G  ON 


"^w^ 


STREAM 


LEFFINGWELL 


ON 


UPLAND,  MARSH,  AND  STREAM. 


A    SEKIES    OF    ARTICLES 


WRITTEN  BY   PROMINENT  SPORTSMEN,  DESCRIPTIVE  OF  HUNTING  THE  UPLAND  BIRDS 

OF  AMERICA,  EXPOSING   THEIR  FLIGHTS,  HABITS.  RESORTS,  AND  THE  MOST  8UC- 

"CESSFUL   MANNER    OF   PURSUING  THEM    WITH   THE    GUN;   AND  TREATING 

ESPECIALLY   OF   THE    SCIENTIFIC   METHODS     OF    SHOOTING    DUCKS, 

PRAIRIE    CHICKENS,    GROUSE,    WILD    TURKEYS,  WILD    GEESE, 

WILD  PIGEONS,  SNIPE,  QUAIL,  WOODCOCK,  AND  PLOVERS. 


EDITED     BY 


WILLIAM    BRUCE    LEFFIXG WELL, 


AUTHOR  OF  "WILD  FOWL  SHOOTING/ 


PR  0 FUSEL  Y    ILL  USTRA  TED. 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 
RAND,  MCNALLY  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 

1890. 

Copyright  1890,  by  Rand,  McNally  <fc  Co. 


To   the   Sportsmen    of   America 

This  Book  is  Dedicated, 

While   We   Convey    to  Them    that    Fraternal    Love, 

that  Always  Has,  and  We  Trust  Always  Will, 

Dwell  in  the  Hearts  of  True  Sportsmen, 

One  for  the  Other. 


f?  £L^ <i*-^  /fl~/ 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  flattering  reception  with  which  "Wild  Fowl 
Shooting"  was  received  throughout  the  United  States, 
and  portions  of  the  Old  World,  was  the  incentive  for  the 
publication  of  this  book;  for,  acting  on  the  solicitations 
of  many  of  the  sporting  fraternity,  who  love  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  field  and  the  purity  of  the  prairie  winds,  I 
bring  into  the  world  another  book,  which  I  trust  and 
believe  will  be  equally  acceptable  and  enjoyable,  and  one 
that  will  teach  to  this  and  to  the  coming  generation  that 
there  is  a  nobility  of  character  in  the  true  sportsman, 
that  will  ever  show  itself,  whether  at  home  or  in  the  field, 
and  that  our  love  of  field  sports  does  not  arise  from  the 
desire  to  slaughter  needlessly  the  feathered  game,  or 
mercilessly  to  extinguish  animal  kind,  but  leads  to  the 
protection  of  game;  and  that,  when  the  law  is  open  to  us, 
our  pleasures  are  equally  divided  between  bagging  the 
birds,  and  seeing  the  dogs,  filled  with  animation,  bound- 
ing over  hill  and  dale,  or  standing  entranced  and  petri- 
fied as  they  point  the  hidden  game.  To  see  the  whir- 
ring birds,  that  cause  our  hearts  to  throb  in  fluttering 
excitement,  to  wander  over  the  fields  in  the  warm,  bud- 
ding spring-time,  when  the  earth  is  clothed  in  bridal 
raiments,  or  when  the  golden  summer,  rich  in  her  harvest, 
has  dotted  the  earth  with  sheaves  of  ripened  grain — this 
is  our  enjoyment. 

Let  not  the  reader  labor  under  the  delusion,  that  the 
capturing  of  a  large  quantity  of  game  is  the  extreme 
desire  of  the  true  sportsman;  for  the  more  adept  one 
becomes  in  the  capturing  of  the  animal  species,  the  less 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

he  cares  for  the  game,  one  of  his  greatest  delights  being 
in  the  secret  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  birds,  no 
matter  how  wary  they  may  be,  are  not  keen  enough  to 
circumvent  him  and  his  well-trained  dogs.  Knowing 
this,  he  desires  that  when  he  is  afield  all  should  be  pro- 
pitious. The  day,  the  fields,  the  streams,  should  be  in 
their  perfectness.  All  thoughts  of  business  banished,  he 
would  be  away  from  the  din  and  bustle  of  city  life,  and 
would,  in  their  stead,  have  Nature  furnish  him  with 
refreshment  and  music.  This  refreshment:  the  bloom- 
ing meadows,  the  cool  springs,  the  sweet  incense  of  the 
prairie  grass,  the  sensuous  perfumes  of  the  marshes— 
his  music:  the  mild  soughing  of  the  winds,  the  piping 
of  the  quail,  the  drumming  of  the  grouse,  and  the  thou- 
sand and  one  sights  and  sounds  of  wild  life,  all  of  which 
will  be  seen  by  appreciative  eyes,  and  heard  by  willing 
ears,  as  he  wanders  over  the  fields  and  through  the  moist 
valleys,  interfered  with  by  no  sights  or  sounds  of  human 
activity. 

The  editor  of  this  work  is  cognizant  of  the  fact,  that 
most  excellent  books  can  be  obtained  treating  on  the  sub- 
ject of  game  birds.  But  the  majority  of  such  works 
treat  of  them  scientifically  and  ornithologically,  and  the 
average  sportsman  does  not  care  to  delve  so  deeply  into 
the  subject,  tiring  his  brain  over  scientific  terms.  The 
editor  desires,  therefore,  rather  to  speak  of  the  birds  as 
others  speak,  to  see  them  as  others  see  them,  avoiding 
terms  that  will  mystify  or  confuse  his  reader.  As  a  hunter 
is  born,  not  made,  so  only  he  can  write  of  game  birds 
who  knows  them,  and  loves  their  dwelling-places;  for, 
unless  he  has  watched  them  from  birdlings  to  mature 
growth,  he  knows  them  not — simply  knoics  of  them.  His 
experience  must  have  been  of  years,  and  his  study,  not 
one  of  necessity;  but  the  knowledge  obtained,  the  result 
of  favorable  opportunities  and  through  love  for  the  sub- 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

ject.  For  one  to  become  proficient  in  any  calling,  one 
must,  as  we  say,  inherit  it;  but  even  if  not  inherited,  the 
passing  years  increase  a  man's  ardor,  and  the  amateur 
speedily  becomes  an  expert,  provided  his  heart  is  in  what 
he  does.  These  things  were  evident  to  the  author  when 
he  first  contemplated  the  publication  of  a  work  of  this 
kind,  and  his  aim  and  desire  has  been  to  give  to  the  world 
a  book  simple  in  words,  pure  and  elevating  in  tone,  and 
so  permeated  with  the  invigorating  recollections  of  days 
spent  afield,  that  the  reader  can  read,  then  lay  aside,  and 
at  once  recall  just  such  scenes  witnessed  at  some  time  of 
his  life.  It  seemed,  then,  that  it  would  be  far  better  to 
enlist  with  him  in  the  preparation  of  this  book,  men  who 
were  possessed  of  the  requisite  knowledge  of  the  habits, 
resorts,  and  peculiarities  of  the  different  birds  treated  of, 
a  knowledge  obtained,  not  from  books,  but  from  years, of 
actual  experience  in  the  field. 

The  writers  selected  are  all  known  to  the  sporting  world, 
and  have  been  recognized  for  years  as  among  the  ablest  in 
America,  or  in  the  world,  on  field  sports.  In  this  book, 
each  writes  of  his  bird,  treating  on  the  subject  of  his  own 
selection — writing  of  birds  studied  and  hunted  for  years. 
No  one  man  has  had  the  varied  experience  displayed  in 
this  book.  Every  hunter  of  experience  has  a  choice  of 
birds — some  one  bird  he  likes  to  hunt  best.  There  is 
occasion  for  regret  that  many  of  the  writers  w^ere  neces- 
sarily restricted  in  space  in  preparing  their  articles. 
Were  they  not  so  restricted,  it  would  have  been  necessary 
to  publish  two  volumes,  instead  of  one.  There  is  a  vein 
running  through  the  many  articles  in  this  book,  which 
commingles  in  free  accord  with  the  views  of  this  writer — 
that  is,  the  desire  for  the  protection  of  game  and  the 
observance  of  existing  game  laws. 

No  experienced  hunter  can  read  this  book  without 
having  brought  to  him  scenes  he  has  witnessed  with 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

delight,  and  causing  in  his  heart  a  secret  longing  for 
their  return;  while,  by  the  inexperienced,  especially  by 
the  young  man,  lessons  can  be  learned  instructive  in  all 
those  secrets  which  make  hunting  a  success,  teaching 
him  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  wary  birds  in  all  their 
wanderings,  and  instilling  into  his  mind  a  love  for  out- 
door life,  which  will  add  to  his  strength  and  make  the 
world  the  better  for  his  living. 

The  supplemental  chapter,  "Greyhound  Coursing," 
supplies  a  fund  of  information,  and  creates  in  the  reader 
a  desire  to  participate  in  this  exciting  sport.  Lovers  of 
the  chase,  of  racing,  of  exhibitions  of  speed  and  endur- 
ance, can  not  fail  to  have  their  hearts  throb  faster,  when 
they  follow  the  writers  in  their  glorious  runs,  and  imagine, 
as  they  can  not  help  imagining,  that  they  are  present  and 
see  the  spirited  running  of  the  lithe  and  supple  grey- 
hounds, trained  with  all  the  skill  and  watchful  care 
which  characterizes  the  development  of  speed  in  the 
blooded  horse.  The  hounds  enter  the  contest  leashed 
together,  straining  eyes  and  every  nerve,  anticipating  the 
prey  which  may  spring  from  the  grass  at  any  moment. 
The  level  prairie,  the  chase,  the  excitement,  the  success- 
ful pursuit,  the  cool  October  day,  the  thousands  of 
enthusiastic  spectators,  the  ground  beautified  and  chas- 
tened by  the  presence  of  ladies  and  children,  all  flushed 
with  excitement  as  one  of  the  hounds,  with  a  magnificent 
burst  of  speed,  passes  his  competitor  and  seizes  the  fleet- 
footed  ranger  of  the  plains.  Then  the  return,  the  crown- 
ing of  the  victor  with  a  floral  wreath  by  some  fair  lady, 
the  ovation, — all  these  things  cause  one's  blood  to  tingle, 
and  we  are  willing,  for  the  time,  to  lay  aside  our  rods  and 
guns,  and  with  our  wives  and  children  enjoy  sports  so 
pure  and  exhilarating  as  these. 

In  the  preparation  of  a  work  like  this,  one  is  placed 
under  special  obligations  to  many.     I  am  thus  indebted 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

to  the  writers  who  have  so  generously  and  brilliantly  con- 
tributed to  this  volume,  and  especially  to  Dr.  N.  Rowe,  of 
the  American  Field,  the  Forest  and  Stream  Publish- 
ing Co.,  John  M.  Tracy,  and  J.  B.  Sword.  I  can  assure 
the  sporting  fraternity  that  the  generous  reception  with 
which  my  former  book  has  been  received,  has  touched  me 
deeply;  for,  though  thousands  of  copies  have  been  sold, 
there  has  never  as  yet  been  an  adverse  criticism  printed. 
Should  this  volume  be  accepted  with  equal  friendliness,  it 
will  demonstrate  to  the  world,  as  it  has  demonstrated  to 
me,  that  my  labors  have  not  been  in  vain,  and  that  we  have 
helped  to  elevate  field  sports  by  producing  works  of  so 
ennobling  a  character  that  a  father  is  proud  to  place  them 
in  the  hands  of  his  sons,  knowing  that  they  contain  pure 
and  chaste  thoughts,  and  are  ripe  with  the  fruits  of  man- 
liness, unselfishness,  kindness,  and  generosity. 


FULL  PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

WOODCOCK-SHOOTING,        .  .          .          .          .          .          .45 

RUFFED  GROUSE  SHOOTING,  ......          95 

IN  THE  MARSH  AT  BREAK  OF  DAY — DUCK-SHOOTING,        .          .          .  129 
BOB  WHITE  SHOOTING,          .......        155 

SHARP-TAILED  GROUSE,  .......  170 

SNIPE-SHOOTING,        ........        251 

PRAIRIE  CHICKEN  SHOOTING,  .......  295 

SHOOTING  GEESE  OVER  DECOYS,     ......        333 

THE  POINTER,       .........  377 

THE  SPEED  LINES  (POINTERS),       ......        385 

THE  BIG  GOBBLER,      '    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  367 

CANVAS-BACK  DUCK,    ........        413 

GREYHOUND  COURSING,  .  .  ...  469 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

INTRODUCTION,       .........      7 

BAY  SNIPE,  COOT,  AND  OTHER  WILD  FOWL  SHOOTING  ON  THE 

ATLANTIC  COAST. — Isaac  McLellan,          .          .          .          .          .15 

THE  WOODCOCK. — William  Jarvis,  .....          31 

THE  QUAILS  OF  CALIFORNIA. — T.  8.  Van  Dyke,       .          .          .          .61 

THE  RUFFED  GROUSE. — (7.  A.  Cooper,     .....          79 

INLAND  DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. — John  G.  Smith,      .  119 
BOB  WHITE. — Amory  R.  Starr,     ......        139 

SHARP-TAILED  GROUSE,  SPRUCE  GROUSE,  AND  PTARMIGANS. — Walter 

M.  Wolfe, 171 

PLOVER-SHOOTING. — E.  Hough,     ......        197 

THE  WILD  PIGEON. —  William  Bruce  LefflngweU,     ....  217 

SNIPE  AND  SNIPE-SHOOTING. — Thomas  C.  Abbott,         .          .          .        237 
WESTERN  FIELD  SPORTS  IN  EARLY  DAYS. — Samuel  C.  Clarke,    .         .  259 
FIELD  ETIQUETTE. — F.  E.  Pond,  .....        273 

PRAIRIE  CHICKENS— PINNATED  GROUSE. —  William  Bruce  Leffingwett,  279 

THE  WILD  GOOSE.— C.  R.  Tinan, 311 

WILD  TURKEY  SHOOTING. — George  W.  Balnea,       ....  343 

CONCERNING  POINTERS  AND  SETTERS. — John  M.  Tracy,        .          .        375 
THE  CANVAS-BACK  DUCK. — William  Bruce  LefflngweU,      .          .          .403 
GUNS. — Arthur  W.  Du  Bray,        ......        421 

COURSING. — G.  Irwin  Royce,  M.  D.,  .  .  .  .  443 


BAY-SXIPE,    COOT,    AND    OTHER   WILD   FOWL 
SHOOTING  OX  THE  ATLANTIC  COAST. 


BY  ISAAC 
Author  of  "'Poems  of  Rod  and  Gun,"  Etc. 


kTJTUMN  is  the  sportsman's  carnival.  He 
then  explores  the  woods,  marshes,  and 
meadows  in  pursuit  of  game,  or  lies  in  his 
ambush  blind,  with  his  fleet  of  decoys  set 
out  around  him,  awaiting  the  approach  of 
hovering  flocks  of  bay-snipe  or  soaring 
legions  of  wild  fowl.  October  is  brilliant 
with  its  autumnal  scenes,  and  November  is 
often  attractive  with  panoramic  glories  of  the 
declining  year.  In  this  fair  season  is  com- 
mingled all  the  gorgeous  combinations  of  the  "Flowery 
Bow."  The  sky  itself  then  seems  to  lose  its  heavenly 
azure,  and  the  smoky  vapor  that  then  ascends  its  domes 
and  reposes  in  its  cerulean  chambers  seems  to  have 
caught  the  variegated  hues  of  the  emblazoned  earth 
beneath.  Every  mountain  pool  and  lonely  pond,  every 
brimming  river  and  lapping  brook,  seem  tinged  with  hues 
borrowed  from  reflected  wood  or  sailing  cloud.  In  the 
dim  depths  of  forests,  the  pine,  fir.  spruce,  and  other  ever- 
greens may  still  retain  their  verdure,  the  wild  grape-vines 
and  ivies  have  but  partially  lost  their  greenness,  but  else- 
where the  eye  is  dazzled  with  the  tintings  of  scarlet  and 
purple,  of  orange  and  of  gold.  And  these  rich  blendings 
of  color  in  the  thick  drapery  of  the  woodlands  is  very 

(15) 


16  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

lovely,  whether  it  is  tossed  by  the  crisp  mountain  breeze 
or  sleeps  motionless  in  a  universal  calm,  so  profound  that 
no  sound  is  audible,  save,  perhaps, 

"  The  sound  of  nutshells  by  the  squirrel  dropped 
From  some  tall  beech,  fast  falling  thro'  the  leaves." 

To  all  lovers  of  Nature,  these  royal  autumnal  scenes  are 
full  of  enchantment.  The  bright  river,  shining  in  the 
mid-day  light,  and  belted  in  with  its  girdle  of  orange, 
purple,  and  scarlet  foliage,  painted  by  the  lavish  brush  of 
Autumn,  seems  to  the  eye  like  a  mirror  of  silver  set  in  a 
frame  of  clouded  gold,  studded  with  effulgent  brilliants. 
Above,  leaning  against  the  sky,  the  rough  brown  hosts  of 
pine-trees  shoot  upward  their  lofty  shafts  and  heavy  mass 
of  umbrage,  while  beneath  the  ground  is  moist  and  russet- 
stained  with  the  accumulated  needles  of  ages.  As  the 
sun  shoots  its  level  rays  through  the  open  glades  and 
vistas  of  the  wood,  it  enkindles  the  myriad  sparkles  of 
dew  that  glisten  on  grass  and  thicket.  The  gossamer 
feather  of  the  thistle,  the  flaky  down  of  the  milk- weed, 
and  the  fine-spun  thread  of  the  spider's  web,  extended 
from  tree  to  tree,  or  floating  loose  in  air,  are  then  all 
strung  with  dewy  beads  of  pearls  and  lucent  gems. 
From  tree-top  to  tree-top,  the  gossiping  blue  jays 
fly  merrily  past,  as  if  hastening  to  circulate  the  morning 
news;  and  from  grove  to  grove  the  cawing  crows  flap  their 
black  pinions,  clamoring  to  their  mates.  The  golden 
robin,s,  admonished  by  the  chilly  airs  of  the  season,  are 
piping  their  melodious  notes  in  the  sunny  pastures,  as  if 
sounding  the  warning  notes  for  the  flocks  to  collect  for 
their  annual  migration. 

Along  the  breezy  surface  of  rivers,  the  blue-winged 
teal  and  the  painted  wood-duck  are  swimming,  or  dress- 
ing their  plumage,  or  diving  beneath  the  surface  in  joy- 
ous frolic.  At  times  the  hollow  "honk"  of  the  wild 
goose  will  resound  like  a  trumpet  high  in  air,  and  the 


BAY-SXIPE   AND    OTHER    WILD    FOWL    SIIOOTIXG.         17 

* 

melancholy  wail  of  the  speckled  loon  will  float  by  with 
musical  cadence.  Anon  a  riotous  brook  of  wild  ducks 
will  raise  their  scolding  chatter;  and  anon  a  frightened 
rabbit  will  scurry  along  with  nimble  leaps,  or,  sitting 
erect  on  its  haunches,  will  pause  to  gaze  at  the  passer-by. 
Anon  a  merry  old  squirrel  will  scamper  up  the  trunk  of 
a  tree,  or,  perched  upon  some  bending  twig,  will  chatter 
to  his  mates,  or  nibble  the  hickory-nut  held  by  its  little 
furry  paws.  These  fair  scenes  are  familiar  to  us  all,  and 
it  is  pleasing  to  recognize  them  pictured  in  verse. 

Tis  autumn  time — 
The  golden,  mellow  autumn  time, 
When  skies  are  radiant,  rich  and  warm, 
The  air  delicious  with  its  balm, 
With  laden  branch  and  leafy  spray, 
Bright-colored  by  November  day, 
Magnificent,  rare  autumn  time; 
With  honeyed  fruits  and  leaves  embrowned, 
And  gay  blooms  o'er  thy  forehead  bound, 
With  scarlet  vine-leaves  crowned ; 
All  day  the  rosy-cinctured  hours 
Prolong,  in  the  grand  forest  bowers, 
Their  festival  of  fruits  and  flowers, 

A  carnival  sublime; 
And  now  fowlers  at  the  shore 
The  marsh,  the  cove,  the  bay  explore, 
So,  hid  in  grass  or  yellow  reed, 
Seek  out  the  haunts  where  wild  fowl  feed. 

The  noblest  fowl,  and  the  one  that  affords  the  best 
sport  along  our  coast-line,  is  the  brant.  It  does  not  pass 
into  fresh  bays  or  brackish  rivers,  but  confines  itself  to 
the  sea-board  and  to  salt  waters,  where  it  finds  its  natural 
food:  In  the  spring  it  is  abundant  along  the  coast,  when 
migrating  to  northern  feeding-grounds,  but  its  stay  is 
then  very  brief. 

In  the  fall  season  it  makes  its  welcome  appearance  in 
the  bays  of  Long  Island  and  Jersey,  below  Barnegat 
Inlet,  and  the  birds  are  there  killed  in  great  numbers. 


18  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

They  abound  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Virginia,  and  there, 
we  think,  are  to  be  found  the  best  places  for  brant-shoot- 
ing on  the  coast. 

We  have  seldom  seen  them  on  the  New  England 
shores,  when  engaged  in  coot-shooting.,  and  we  presume 
they  do  not  follow  that  line  of  coast,  but  pass  far  out  at 
sea,  and  first  fall  in  with  the  land  on  the  south  side  of 
Long  Island,  and  there  stop  for  rest  and  food.  In 
former  years,  they  wrere  quite  abundant  at  Montauk, 
and  in  Gardiner's  Bay,  on  the  east  part  of  Long  Island, 
but  now  they  are  much  more  scarce.  They  are  shy  of 
passing  over  a  point  of  land,  so  that  a  battery -gunner, 
concealed  in  his  small  boat,  far  out  from  shore,  and  sur- 
rounded by  decoys,  has  great  advantage  over  the  fowler 
who  shoots  from  shore.  It  is  a  bird  that  easily  falls  to 
shot,  and  does  not  escape  by  diving,  or  it  does  not 
plunge  for  food,  feeding  on  bars  at  low  water  on  a  broad- 
leaved  plant  called  the  sea-cabbage.  The  first  flocks  to 
arrive  remain  but  a  few  days,  and  then,  collected  in  large 
flocks,  rise  high  in  air,  and  after  describing  wide  aerial 
circuits,  they  start  out  in  a  direct  course  over  the  sea, 
avoiding  all  projecting  points,  and  traveling  night  and 
day.  They  are  soon  succeeded  by  other  flocks,  which 
remain  until  the  severe  weather  of  December  compels 
them  to  a  southern  flight.  The  brant-geese  are  more 
wary  than  the  Canada  geese,  and  are  shy  of  approaching 
the  ambushed  gunner.  They  will  often,  however,  alight 
beyond  the  decoys,  and  then  slowly  swim  into  the 
wooden  flock,  mistaking  them  for  their  feathered  breth- 
ren. A  favorite  way  to  kill  them  is  to  have  a  boat-like 
box  on  some  open  sand-bar  which  the  fowl  frequent, 
and  the  unsuspecting  birds  fall  an  easy  prey.  The  best 
location  for  the  sport  that  we  know  of  is  on  the  eastern 
coast  of  Virginia,  in  the  Abroad  waters"  between  the 
outlying  sandy  islands  and  the  main-land.  We  have 


BAY-SNIPE   AND   OTHER   WILD    FOWL  SHOOTING.        19 

passed  several  seasons  there  on  the  main  opposite  Cobb*  s 
Island,  where  we  found  the  bay-snipe  shooting  most  excel- 
lent, especially  for  the  big  siche-bill  curlews.  On  those 
"broad  waters,''  during  the  summer  months,  numerous 
Tree  -blinds  are  planted  in  the  water  by  the  fowlers,  and 
between  these  they  hide  themselves  and  boats  until  the 
brant  arrive,  late  in  the  season.  These  blinds  are  formed 
of  small  cedar-trees,  stuck  into  the  soft  mud  of  the  bot- 
tom, and  make  with  their  bushy  tops  a  thick  screen 
some  five  feet  above  the  water.  Numerous  decoys  are 
anchored  all  around  these  blinds;  the  gunners  take  posi- 
tion in  the  boats,  the  hovering  flocks  approach  the  snare, 
the  guns  explode,  and  the  surface  is  overspread  with  the 
slain.  These  are  quickly  gathered  lip,  the  guns  reloaded, 
and  all  is  ready  for  another  flock.  The  victims  are  easily 
disabled,  and  you  are  sure  to  retrieve  with  your  boat  all 
that  you  shoot  down.  The  black  duck  ( Anas  obscura)  also 
is  abundant  at  those  places,  as  indeed  it  is  along  the 
whole  coast  from  Montauk  to  Hatteras.  Though  it  fre- 
quents salt  bays  and  inlets,  it  seems  also  to  be  fond  of 
fresh  waters,  and  is  found  in  swamps,  marshes,  ice-fields, 
and  the  margins  of  rivers.  Though  called  the  black 
duck,  that  is  a  misnomer;  for  the  black  duck  of  science 
is  the  spectacle-duck,  a  species  of  coot  (Fuligula  perspi- 
culata},  and  is  properly  the  dusky  duck.  We  have 
enjoyed  much  better  bay-snipe  shooting  on  the  eastern 
peninsula  of  Virginia  than  on  Long  Island,  New 
Jersey,  or  North  Carolina.  The  scenery  on  the  Chesa- 
peake Bay  side  is  very  lovely,  and  we  have  never  seen 
more  picturesque  spots  than  the  old  plantation  sites 
along  the  bay  shore;  there  green  slopes  dip  down  into  the 
crystal -clear  water;  noble  trees  droop  their  greenery  of 
foliage,  engarlanded  with  the  trailing  vines  of  wild  grape, 
woodbine,  ivy,  and  the  splendid  trumpet-flower.  Broad 
plantations  outstretch  for  miles  their  fruitful  acres  of 


20  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

corn  and  grain,  and  the  dingy  white  house  of  the  planter 
gleams  through  its  bower  of  fruit-trees,  twinkling  amid 
the  embowering  elms,  locusts,  and  oaks.  There  the  mock- 
ing-bird builds  and  sings  and  other  sweet  songsters 
assemble,  and  every  stubble-fleld  repeats  the  soft  whistle 
of  tlie  quail;  but  there  pervades  the  blight  of  malaria;  but 
on  the  sea-coast  side  it  is  much  healthier,  where  the  salt 
breeze,  blowing  in  fresh  from  the  Atlantic,  fills  the  lungs 
with  healthful  inspiration.  In  such  latter  place  the  bay- 
snipe  shooting  can  not  be  surpassed,  and  we  have  never 
seen  the  curlew  in  such  great  numbers,  while  the  willet, 
plover,  yellow-leg,  and  do  witch  are  ever  abundant.  These 
haunt  the  meadow-lands  that  line  the  shore,  and  the 
boundless  acres  of  salt  marshes,  intersected  with  tidal 
creeks,  between  the  main-land  and  the  sea;  there  also 
resort  the  ducks  in  late  fall,  and  a  good  boat,  good  gun, 
and  good  aim  are  all  that  is  requisite  for  good  and  ample 
enjoyment.  We  have  found  the  broad-bill  (blue-bill)  very 
numerous  in  the  lower  parts  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  where 
they  are  called  "raft -duck."  These  fowls  pass  the  nights 
on  the  flats,  in  large  flocks,  and  seldom  resort  to  salt 
meadows.  Great  havoc  is  made  among  them  by  batter- 
ies, and  we  rejoice  that  the  use  of  these  destructive 
machines  are  prohibited  in  many  places.  Of  all  wild  fowl, 
the  most  valued  is  the  canvas-back,  though  we  think 
them  not  superior  to  their  congener,  the  red-head.  The 
two  fowl  closely  resemble  each  other  in  size  and  plumage, 
and  their  food  is  identical,  viz.,  the  valisneria,  or  duck- 
weed. They  are  very  plentiful  in  North  Carolina  waters, 
but  the  best  ground  for  them  seems  to  be  the  upper  waters 
of  the  Chesapeake.  They  arrive  there  about  the  middle 
of  November,  and  are  then  in  poor  condition  after  their 
long  flight  from  the  North;  but  soon  after  feeding  on 
the  succulent  grasses,  they  acquire  the  delicious  flavor 
which  makes  them  world-renowned.  At  such  places  the 


BAY-SNIPE  AND   OTHER   WILD   FOWL   SHOOTING.        21 

canvas-back  and  broad-bill  dive  to  the  bottom  and  tear  up 
the  roots  of  the  grasses,  while  the  red-heads  and  widgeons 
feed  on  the  leaves  that  rise  to  the  surface.  The  widgeon 
(bald-pate)  is  a  regular  thief,  and  thieves  at  the  expense 
of  the  canvas-back,  snatching  the  treasure  from  the  bill 
of  the  latter  as  it  brings  it  to  the  surface.  The  Chesa- 
peake is  their  chosen  place  of  rest  and  pasture. 

By  myriads  there  the  wild  fowl  come 

To  taste  the  rich,  delicious  fare; 
The  red-head  and  the  canvas-back, 

The  widgeon  with  his  plumage  rare, 
The  ruddy  duck,  the  buffle-head, 

The  broad-bill,  and  the  Canada  goose, 
Hovering  o'er  shoal  or  cove 

Their  winnowing  pinions  to  unloose. 

The  best  points  in  Long  Island  for  geese,  brant-duck, 
and  bay-snipe  shooting  are  at  the  Great  South  Bay,  the 
East  Bay,  and  Shinnecod  Bay,  and  at  the  latter  location 
we  have  pleasantly  passed  several  successive  seasons, 
enjoying  excellent  sport.  It  is  a  bay  of  only  eight  miles 
in  extent,  and  the  points  are  all  easily  accessible;  and 
when  the  valisneria  (duck-grass)  is  abundant,  the  shooting 
for  duck  and  snipe  is  very  good.  In  former  years,  Great 
South  Bay  was,  and  still  is,  a  favorite  resort  for  wild 
fowl  shooters,  and  there  often  came  "Cypress,  Jr." 
(Hawes),  W.  H.  Herbert,  and  others  of  sporting  celeb- 
rity, though  we  think  that  Frank  Forester  preferred  the 
sport  to  be  had  at  Barnegat.  Bay,  at  old  John  Maxon's, 
and  there  he  advised  us  to  try  it,  which  we  did  for  sev- 
eral years,  with  ample  pleasure  and  success.  The  bay- 
snipe,  by  their  countless  numbers,  afford  rare  sport  to 
tlie  bay-man  and  amateur  gunner  in  July,  August,  Sep- 
tember, and  October,  throughout  our  great  coast-line 
from  Cape  Cod  to  Cape  May.  Spring  shooting  is  now 
properly  prohibited  by  law.  In  their  fall  migrations, 
they  turn  aside  from  the  open  sea  to  frequent  the  vari- 


22  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

ous  bays,  marshes,  and  mud-fiats  of  Long  Island  and  New 
Jersey,  where  they  enjoy  their  natural,  abundant  food; 
and  there  the  gunners,  securely  hid  in  ambush,  await 
their  approach,  and  greatly  thin  out  the  flocks.  These 
migratory  tribes  are  very  diverse  in  their  cries,  shapes, 
and  color,  and  usually  fly  in  separate  flocks. 

The  splendid  golden  plovers,  however,  do  not  resort  to 
these  bays,  or  consort  with  the  bay-birds,  but  as  their 
natural  feast  consists  of  insects,  grasshoppers,  crickets, 
etc.,  they  frequent  and  feed  upon  upland  pastures,  and 
there  only  are  found.  In  years  past,  they  were  found  in 
countless  numbers  over  the  grassy  slopes  of  Montauk 
Point  and  the  hill-sides  of  Gardiner's  Island,  and  there 
for  years  we  successfully  interviewed  them;  but  in  later 
years,  from  some  unknown  cause,  they  have  forsaken 
their  old  haunts,  and  flown  to  "fresh  fields  and  pastures 
new."  In  the  above-mentioned  bay  they  still  are  found 
in  large,  though  diminished,  flocks;  and  we  think  that, 
warned  by  their  destruction  in  those  bays,  they  pursue 
their  southward  course  far  out  to  sea,  not  pausing  by 
the  way.  •  We  have  been  told  by  fishermen  that  they 
often  have  seen  their  great  flocks  over  the  ocean,  far 
from  land.  In  pursuit  of  them,  the  gunners  issue  forth 
when  the  tides  are  out,  secreting  themselves  in  grass- 
dressed  boats,  or  amidst  the  sedge-grass,  and  there  await 
the  flood-tides,  which  drive  the  birds  from  the  marshes, 
creeks,  and  mud-flats,  and  in  their  passage  they  are 
readily  lured  by  the  wooden  stools  and  imitative  whistles 
of  the  sportsman,  and,  so  deceived,  they  hover  and  alight. 
and  become  an  easy  prey  to  the  destroyer.  It  is  usual  to 
make  the  blind  at  the  edge  of  a  pond  or  creek,  and  there 
set  out  their  stools,  with  long  legs,  in  the  water,  where 
they  will  make  a  more  conspicuous  show  than  if  planted 
on  a  mud-flat  on  the  short  grass  of  the  marshes;  when  the 
birds,  such  as  the  varieties  of  curlew,  martin,  willet. 


BAY-SXIPE   AXD    OTHER   WILD   FOWL   SHOOTING.        23 

brant-bird,  yellow-shank,  robin-snipe,  dawitch,  kreekers, 
sanderlings,  ox-eyes,  ring-neck,  etc.,  etc.,  rise  from  their 
submerged  i'eeding-grounds,  they  will  pass  through 
the  various  leads  and  thoroughfares  in  great  numbers, 
and,  enticed  by  the  sight  of  the  stools  and  the  simulated 
whistles  of  the  gunners,  they  will  approach,  and,  hover- 
ing, will  alight  among  or  near  the  decoys,  and  receive  the 
deadly  shot,  after  returning  to  their  crippled  and  flutter- 
ing mates,  and  so  falling  to  a  repeated  volley  of 
Xo.  10  pellets.  The  black-breast  plovers  arrive  here 
in  May  from  their  winter  quarters  in  the  South,  and 
after  delaying  for  a  few  days  on  the  bars,  beaches, 
and  uplands,  they  leave  in  a  body  for  the  North, 
where  the  young  broods  are  hatched  and  raised,  and  in 
the  months  of  August  and  September  they  return  to 
us  again,  reinforced  by  their  now  well-grown  offspring. 
Though  shy,  they  are  enticed  within  shot  by  the  decoys, 
and  their  imitated  plaintive  notes.  In  autumn  they 
are  distributed  along  the  coast,  subsisting  on  minute 
shell-fish  and  marine  insects,  on  which  fare  they  become 
fat.  They  remain  with  us  until  September,  when  they 
begin  to  pass  southward,  their  migrating  course  extending 
to  the  southernmost  extremity  of  the  Union.  The  brant- 
bird,  which  we  have  often  seen  mixed  with  the  black- 
breast  flocks,  is  very  prettily  marked;  mingling  with 
its  plumage  are  white,  black,  reddish-brown,  and  black- 
ish-brown feathers.  It  is  commonly  known  as  the 
"horse-foot  snipe,"  from  its  feeding  on  the  spawn  of  the 
king-crab,  or  horse-foot,  as  it  is  termed.  It  arrives  on  the 
coast  early  in  May,  from  the  South,  and  leaves  for  its 
breeding -place  in  the  North  by  the  end  of  May.  It 
returns  to  the  bays  of  Jersey  and  Long  Island  in  Sep- 
tember, where  it  remains  until  late  in  autumn.  On  the 
New  England  coast,  we  have  recognized  it  chiefly  under 
the  name  of  "turn-stone,''  from  its  habit  of  turning  the 


24  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

pebbles  of  the  )Deach  in  search,  of  food.  In  its  wars  it  is 
rather  solitary,  and  is  seen  singly  or  in  pairs  only,  skim- 
ming the  beach  in  search  of  marine  insects  and  minute 
shell-fish.  It  is  then  in  plump  condition,  and  considered 
a  delicacy.  In  the  spring  it  moves  with  the  black-breast 
flocks,  but  at  other  seasons  it  does  not  seem  to  be  gathered 
in  numbers  with  other  migratory  birds.  The  most  numer- 
ous fowl,  perhaps,  on  our  coast  are  the  various  tribes 
of  coot,  old  squaws,  and  shell-drake,  and  there  should  be 
no  restriction  on  the  allowed  time  for  shooting.  The 
laws  of  New  York  have  provided  that  no  geese,  black 
duck,  shell-drake,  coot,  or  old  squaws  should  be  killed  on 
Long  Island  in  certain  prescribed  months;  but  there 
should  be  nothing  to  forbid  the  killing  of  these  last- 
mentioned  fowl,  as  they  are  not  valued  for  food  or  market 
on  Long  Island  or  Jersey;  they  afford  good  sport,  and  it 
should  be  left  discretionary  with  sportsmen  to  kill  or 
spare  them.  There  is  no  law  in  New  England  placing 
any  such  prohibitions  on  shooting  them,  and  nearly  all 
the  fowl-shooting  on  that  coast  consists  of  coot,  old 
squaws,  shell-drake,  and  loon.  We  have  for  years  enjoyed 
that  sport  at  some  of  the  best  points  from  Maine  to 
Seconnet  Point,  Rhode  Island,  and  always  found  it  to 
be  good.  It  is  followed  in  Massachusetts  Bay  by 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  gunners,  with  *  success  and 
satisfaction.  But  there  these  fowl  are  held  in  fair  esti- 
mation for  the  table,  and  fowlers  come  from  remote 
places  in  the  interior  to  favorite  locations  on  the  coast 
to  enjoy  their  annual  sport.  Wherever  there  is  a  jutting 
point  or  head-land,  with  a  reef  of  outlying  rocks  project- 
ing into  the  sea,  there  along  the  extended  coast  will  be 
seen  long  lines  of  the  fowlers'  boats,  tossing  on  the 
waves.  At  some  such  point  we  have  seen  a  fleet  of  from 
ten  to  fifty  "dories"  strung  out  and  ready  for  the  flight 
of  the  coot.  There  are  coot  of  many  varieties:  old 


BAY-SNIPE   AND    OTHER   WILD    FOWL   SHOOTING.        25 

squaws,  shell-drake,  or  loon  are  the  chief  and  almost  the 
only  game;  for  seldom  does  a  brant,  broad-bill,  or  black 
duck  cross  that  dangerous  line  of  boats. 

The  coot  and  old  squaws  are  in  myriads  all  along  the 
coast,  and  we  have  seen  acres  of  them  in  sailing,  late  in  the 
fall,  from  the  mouth  of  the  Chesapeake  to  York  River, 
a  distance  of  100  or  more  miles.  The  velvet  duck  (Fuli- 
(jnlafusca),  or  white-wing  coot,  is  in  flesh  rather  tough 
and  fishy,  and  is  so  hard  to  kill  that  its  slaughter  is  con- 
sidered by  fowlers  a  sure  test  of  skill.  It  feeds  on  shell- 
fish, especially  the  scollop.  When  migrating  South,  it 
performs  its  long  journey  from  its  summer  breeding-place 
in  perfect  silence.  It  is  a  heavy-bushed  bird,  and  well 
supplied  with  down,  and  when  in  full  plumage  a  heavy 
chain  of  shot  is  requisite  to  bring  them  low.  The  surf 
or  spectacle  duck  breeds  from  Labrador  northward. 
Its  flesh  is  coarse  and  fishy.  It  is  peculiar  to  America,  and 
its  life  is  spent  in  the  bays  and  on  the  shores  of  the  sea. 
Its  food  consists  of  those  small  bivalve  shell-fish,  the 
spoat-fish  and  others,  that  lie  in  the  sand  near  the  sur- 
face. For  these  they  dive  constantly,  seldom  visiting 
the  salt  marshes.  They  often  remain  with  us  in  the 
North  during  the  winter  months.  They  are  very  shy 
birds,  and  not  easily  approached  by  boat.  In  these 
waters  are  also  very  abundant  the  long-tailed  duck,  com- 
monly called  the  old  squaw  or  old  wife,  which  we  hear 
along  the  shores  repeating  their  sonorous  cry  of  "  South, 
south,  southerly,"  by  which  name  they  are  known 
along  the  southern  coast.  On  the  New  England  coast 
they  are  called  the  "quandy."  This  bird  is  the  latest 
to  leave  their  remote  northern  feeding-grounds.  Pro- 
tected by  its  thick,  downy  plumage,  it  lingers  long  among 
the  ice-fields  of  the  Arctic,  till  at  last  compelled  to  seek 
its  food  in  a  milder  region.  They  come  in  large  flocks, 
but  soon  separate  in  small  flocks,  and  through  the  winter 


26  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

frequent  the  whole  coast.  It  is  expert  in  diving,  and 
goes  under  "shuts  the  door"  so  quickly  that  it  is  hard 
to  shoot.  Its  flesh  is  tough  and  fishy,  like  that  of  the 
coot.  It  accompanies  the  coot  in  its  migrations,  and  its 
food  and  habits  are  similar.  Wherever  there  is  an 
abundance  of  small  clams  and  mussels,  there  the  old 
squaws  select  their  feeding-places.  They  remain  with 
us  till  the  weather  is  severe  enough  to  form  ice,  and  so 
prevent  their  getting  any  more  food.  Long  Island  Sound 
abounds  with  them,  where  long  lines  of  boats  are  ranged 
for  their  destruction;  but  their  chief  flight  extends  along 
the  open  sea-coast,  and  they  may  be  seen  at  all  times 
skimming  across  the  ocean  waves  or  winging  high  in  air 
their  ceaseless  flight.  Sometimes  they  will  pass  in  wavy, 
wide,  long  lines,  like  an  immense  undulating  serpent, 
and  at  other  times  passing  on  in  dense  phalanx  and 
solid  columns,  like  an  immense  army.  Neither  the 
broad-bills  (scaup-duck)  nor  the  brant  seem  to  join  in 
their  flight.  In  numbers  the  coot  and  old  squaw  tribes 
seem  to  be  countless,  exceeding  any  species  of  fowl  that 
sweep  the  air.  They  have  these  in  the  ^North,  on  sandy 
islands,  as  well  as  the  curlew  and  others  of  the  snipe 
tribe,  where  they  find  their  food  in  the  salt  deeps,  and 
deposit  their  eggs  in  the  sand,  and  these  find  deadly  foes 
in  the  provincial  poachers,  who  rob  their  nests  of  the 
eggs  without  remorse.  These  men  land  on  the  sandy 
islands  at  sundown,  and  then  trample  all  over  the  sands, 
destroying  all  eggs  that  cover  the  ground,  and  on  the 
following  morning  they  revisit  the  spot  and  collect  all 
the  fresh-laid  eggs,  with  which  they  load  their  small  ves- 
sels, and  so  proceed  with  their  plunder  to  Boston  or 
other  city  markets.  The  brant  and  geese,  however,  are 
more  wary,  do  not  resort  to  those  sandy  islands,  but 
retire  to  inaccessible  swamps  and  marshes,  where  they 
deposit  their  eggs  and  raise  their  young  in  perfect 


BAY-SXIPE  AXD   OTIIKR   WILD   FOWL   SHOOTING.       27 

security,  beyond  the  reach  of  white  poacher  or  Indian 
robber.  The  Canadian  laws  prohibit  all  such  devasta- 
tions, but  the  enactments  are  easily  evaded.  It  is  said 
That  more  fowls  are  thus  destroyed  than  by  the  guns  of 
all  the  fowlers  of  the  coast. 

In  J^ew  England  there  is  no  sporting-club  to  monopo- 
lize the  ground  and  maintain  exclusive  privileges.  The 
coot-shooting  is  free  to  all,  and  old  ocean  opens  wide  its 
gates,  and  with  its  rolling  billows  invites  the  daring  gun- 
ner to  its  breast.  There  is  much  real  hardship,  and  some 
spice  of  danger,  in  the  sport,  that  is  unknown  to  the 
shooter  in  the  sheltered  bays  of  Long  Island,  the  waters 
of  Barnegat  in  Jersey,  or  the  shoal  creeks  and  shallows 
of  Carrituck  Sound.  The  coot-shooter  has  to  dare  the 
combing  breakers  ready  to  engulf,  the  sharp  and  hidden 
rocks  eager  to  impale,  and  the  sudden  and  violent  gales, 
sufficient  to  sweep  the  dancing  skiff  far  away  from 
friendly  shore  to  the  pitiless  wastes  of  ocean.  We  have 
had  many  a  desperate  struggle  against  wind  and  tide, 
when  caught  out  a  mile  at  sea  in  our  diminutive  craft,  by 
a  sudden  gale  blowing  from  the  shore,  and  we  have  seen 
hair-breadth  escapes  from  certain  drowning  among  the 
venturous  coot-shooters.  There  are  many  capital  points 
for  the  shooting  on  that  coast,  the  best  of  which  are  the 
Boarshead,  at  Hampton,  X.  H. ;  Cohasset  Rocks,  Scit- 
uate  Harbor,  Brant  Rock,  Marshfield,  and  Manamet 
Point,  at  the  mouth  of  Plymouth  Bay.  We  have  had  many 
a  good  day's  sport  at  each  of  these  places,  for  at  them 
all,  the  fowl-flight  is  plentiful,  and  the  fishing  unsur- 
passed. It  is  a  rule  that  the  first  boat  in  early  morning 
to  reach  the  shooting-ground  shall  have  the  first  choice  of 
place;  and  sometimes  the  sportsman  most  eager  for  the 
sport  will  anchor  his  boat,  in  the  darkness,  off  the  outer 
rock  of  the  reef,  and  wrapping  himself  close  in  his  shoot- 
ing-coat, lie  down  and  sleep  till  awakened  by  the  dawn 


28  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

or  by  succeeding  boats;  and  such  lias  been  our  own  not 
unf  requent  experience.  If  the  wind  and  weather  be  calm 
and  adverse,  there  will  probably  be  but  a  small  flight  of 
fowl;  but  if  a  light  or  a  smart  breeze  blows  from  the  east- 
ward, then  "look  out  to  the  eastward."  The  first  fifteen 
or  twenty  boats  to  arrive  anchor  and  set  out  decoys,  and 
then  form  a  curved  line  from  the  outer  rock,  at  about 
gunshot  distance  from  each  other.  Those  who  come  later 
form  a  second  line,  anchored  some  thirty  rods  in  rear  of 
the' former;  and  all  the  latest  comers,  who  have  lingered 
too  long  in  bed  or  at  breakfast,  form  a  straggling  third 
line  in  rear  of  all,  and  are  content  to  open  fire  upon  the 
broken  flocks  that  have  escaped  through  the  two  front 
lines,  and  ofttimes  they  are  rewarded  in  picking  up  the 
cripples.  On  a  blowy  day,  with  a  rough  sea  running,  these 
third-line  laggards  do  a  profitable  business  in  gathering 
up  the  killed  and  wounded.  These  coot-shooters  form  a 
mixed  and  curious  assemblage.  Some  of  them  are  city- 
bred,  fresh  from  the  wharf  and  warehouse,  rigged  out  in 
the  most  correct  sporting-garb,  and  armed  in  the  best 
fashion.  Then  there  are  rural  gunners  from  the  far-back- 
in  woods,  provided  with  squirrel-guns,  and  using  only  3  B 
shot,  instead  of  No.  2  and  3.  Then  come  the  native 
gunners,  old  fellows  who  have  followed  the  sport  at  the 
shore  where  they  reside  for  half  a  century  or  more.  AVe 
have  known  some  of  them,  venerable  with  the  frosts  of 
eighty  years,  yet  strong  enough  to  pull  a  boat  or  thin  a 
flock,  using  only  their  ancient  muskets.  In  a  favorable 
day  for  the  flight,  it  is  exciting  to  take  one's  stand  on  a 
bluff  and  witness  the  sport.  It  is  like  overlooking  a  battle- 
field, with  constant  roar  and  flash  of  guns.  A  light  breeze, 
then,  perhaps,  blows  from  the  northeast,  just  sufficient  to 
ruffle  the  waves,  without  stirring  them  to  anger.  The 
rolling  surge  frets  and  foams  against  the  weed-draped 
rocks  and  the  yellow  sands  of  the  shore,  where  the  dark 


BAY-SXIPE   AND    OTHER    WILD    FOWL    SHOOTING.         29 

pines  and  yellowing  oaks  cast  their  shadows.  Above 
spreads  the  blue  canopy  of  sky,  hazy  with  the  vapors  of 
Indian  summer.  Far  away  spreads  old  ocean's  gray  and 
melancholy  waste,  dotted  here  and  there  with  snowy  sail 
or  smoking  steamer;  while  beneath  you  lies  the  little 
fleet  of  boats,  in  constant  smoke,  and,  as  the  flocks  of 
fowl  pass  over  them,  we  might  celebrate  the  scene  and 
the  coot  in  verse,  thus: 

High,  high  in  upper  air  they  rise, 
Their  dark  forms  melting  in  the  skies; 
Seaward,  in  solid,  compact  mass, 
The  flapping  squadrons  onward  pass; 
And  now  they  skim  the  frothy  brine, 
In  lengthen'd  file,  in  wedge-like  line, 
Ne'er  sweeping  over  land  or  bar, 
But  skirting  headlands  high  and  far. 

Along  the  rocky  shores  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  crowned 
with  bowery  woodlands,  bordered  in  vast  acres  of  salt 
marshes,  and  washed  by  the  salty  tides  of  the  bay,  lies 
the  little  town  of  Marshfield,  famous  as  the  chosen  and 
last  home  of  Daniel  Webster.  Many  years  since, 
charmed  with  the  location,  he  purchased  an  old  farm- 
house and  a  few  acres  of  land,  near  the  marshes  and  the 
shore,  where  the  Green  River  debouches  into  ocean,  and 
here  he  passed  many  happy  years  of  life,  in  a  haven  where 
he  could  retire  from  the  bustle  of  the  law  and  the  dis- 
tractions of  politics,  and  refresh  himself  with  the  tranquil 
pleasures  of  rural  life  and  the  exciting  delights  of  fish- 
ing, fowling  for  coot,  and  bay-snipe  shooting.  It  was 
our  good  fortune  to  be  established,  through  his  courtesy 
and  kindness,  in  his  adjoining  farm-house,  and  for  some 
three  years  of  residence  there  we  had  good  opportunity 
to  enjoy  the  sports  of  marsh  and  ocean,  and  the  much 
greater  pleasure  of  seeing  constantly  the  great  states- 
man. Brant  Rock,  not  far  from  his  home,  was  a  famous 
point  for  fishing,  and  for  some  years  he  might  be  found 


:30  UPLAXD    SHOOTING. 

in  the  line  of  boats  trying  his  hand  at  shooting;  but  his 
greater  pleasure,  especially  in  later  years,  was  to  sail  out 
in  his  little  sloop  and  enjoy  the  sport  of  cod  and  haddock 
fishing.  He  was  ever  a  generous  and  beloved  landlord 
among  his  dependents,  and  the  kindest  of  parents,  ever 
delighted  to  have  his  sons  with  him,  on  marshes,  over 
the  farm,  or  in  the  boat.  The  elder  one,  Fletcher,  a 
colonel  in  a  Union  regiment,  fell  in  battle  during  the  late 
war,  and  the  youngest,  Major  Edward,  died  of  disease 
during  the  Mexican  War.  It  was  a  sorrowful  day  when 
the  remains  of  the  statesman  were  interred,  on  a  hill -side 
overlooking  the  ocean  and  the  meadows. 


THE  WOODCOCK. 


BY  WILLIAM  JARVJS  ("MONT  CLARE"). 


the  list  of  birds  pursued  with  dog  and  gun, 
there  is  one  that  has  a  lasting  claim  upon 
the  affections  of  a  sportsman,  both  on 
account  of  its  beauty  and  the  mystery  that 
surrounds  its  ways;  a  bird  of  mighty 
wanderings  and  daily  rest;  a  bird  with  eyes 
large,  dark,  and  deep,  in  whose  depths  the 
glories  of  an  autumnal  sky  and  landscape 
are  reflected  in  miniature;  a  bird  with  the  magic  power  to 
turn  its  admirer  from  all  other  feathered  game,  if  once 
he  hears  the  whistle  of  its  wings  or  sees  its  form  glide 
stealthily  down  the  glade. 

Its  plumage  above  is  mottled  with  rufous,  slate,  and 
black,  the  first  two  colors  softly  blending  upon  the  sides 
of  the  neck,  while  belo.w,  upon  the  shapely  breast,  there 
is  a  tinge  of  pink,  which  changes  to  a  rufous  toward  the 
wings  and  thighs.  This  color — full  upon  the  breast  of  a 
perfect-plumaged  bird,  fading  away  as  it  nears  the  tail  to 
the  shade  of  a  bit  of  sedge — reminds  one  of  the  reflection 
of  an  October  sunset.  Its  legs  are  of  moderate  length, 
delicate  in  their  molding,  and  flesh-tinted;  the  toes  are 
long  and  slender;  its  bill  dark  in  color  and  very  long,  and 
the  full  dark  eyes,  set  quite  to  the  top  of  the  head,  that  it 
may  more  safely  feed  without  injury  to  its  eyesight,  give 
to  this  bird  a  most  singular  appearance.  Its  length  is 
about  eleven  inches,  and  its  weight  from  five  to  eight 
ounces,  the  female  generally  being  the  larger.  Such  is 

(31) 


32  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

the  woodcock,  a  bird  once  known,  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten. 

It  lias,  too,  a  claim  upon  the  epicure  as  well  as  the 
sportsman,  and,  from  those  days  when  the  Pontine 
marshes  furnished  woodcock  in  such  numbers  that  the 
Romans  feasted  upon  their  tongues  until  to-day,  this 
bird  has  been  regarded  as  one  of  the  daintiest  morsels 
ever  tasted  by  man. 

Of  woodcock  we  have  but  one  variety,  inhabiting 
Eastern  North  America,  and  breeding  in  various  sections 
of  the  United  States  and  Provinces,  called  by.  orinthol- 
ogists  Philohela  minor,  to  distinguish  it  in  a  scientific 
manner  from  its  cousin,  the  woodcock  of  Europe,  which 
differs  from  ours  in  shape  of  wings  and  general  markings, 
being  less  beautiful  in  coloring,  and  in  size  a  third  larger. 
Wherever  the  woodcock  may  be  found,  it  is  a  migratory 
bird,  although  in  the  most  southern  of  its  breeding- 
grounds  its  migrations  are  of  short  duration.  It  is 
something  of  a  Bohemian  in  its  ways,  bound  to  live  well 
for  the  day,  or  rather  the  night;  no  matter  for  the  mor- 
row; governed  in  its  choice  of  home  by  no  provincial  laws, 
but  by  the  climate  and  the  food  which  it  loves  so  well; 
fearing  the  cold,  the  sleet,  and  the  snows,  and  altogether 
being  a  lover  of  the  sunny  side  of  life. 

The  woodcock  of  the  Northern  States  is  the  woodcock 
of  the  Southern — no  difference  in  its  markings,  no  differ- 
ence in  its  size,  nor  in  the  flavor  of  its  flesh. 

The  bobolink  of  New  England  is  the  reed-bird  of  the 
Pennsylvania  marshes,  the  rice-bird  of  the  South;  its 
food  varies,  and  so  does  its  flavor. 

The  ruffed  grouse  in  certain  winter  months  feeds  .upon 
the  buds  of  the  birch,  and  its  flesh  at  such  times  is  bitter 
to  the  taste,  and  unfit  for  food.  The  canvas-back 
searches  for  the  wild  celery,  revels  in  its  fragrance,  and 
then  furnishes  to  the  epicure  a  far  more  delicate  viand 


THE    WOODCOCK. 


33 


than  at  other  times.  But  the  woodcock,  no  matter  where 
it  wings  its  way,  in  all  of  the  many  sections  in  which  it 
may  be  found,  at  various  seasons  legitimate  for  shooting, 
is  much  the  same  sort  of  bird,  and  woodcock- shooting 


WOODCOCK.— Philohela  minor. 


is  much  the  same  sort  of  sport  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land;  yet  no  other  in  the  list  of  game  birds 
is  so  little  understood  by  mankind  in  general;  no  other 
has  so  wrecked  the  many  theories  which  from  time  to  time 
have  been  advanced  concerning  its  modes  of  life,  and  no 
other  has  been  subject  to  such  relentless  persecution. 


34  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

In  the  dells  and  covers  where  woodcock  breed,  they 
are  birds  of  curious  ways,  and  it  is  in  such  places,  with 
no  evil  intent  in  one's  heart,  that  he  can  best  learn  their 
nature,  and  get  at  those  secrets  of  their  forest  liv.-^ 
which  are  beyond  his*  reach  when,  with  dog  and  gun,  he 
beats  the  covers  in  autumn  months. 

The  arrival  of  woodcock  upon  their  breeding-grounds 
varies  with  the  season  and  the  sections  of  country 
through  which  they  scatter.  They  leave  their  winter 
resorts,  wrhere  for  a  short  time  they  have  enjoyed  a 
southern  sun,  and  commence  their  northward  pilgrimage 
late  in  January  or  early  in  February,  advancing  with  the 
spring- tide,  until  they  iind  grounds  suited  to  their 
habits.  In  their  most  southern  grounds  they  breed  as 
early  as  the  last  of  February,  and  in  their  more  northern 
as  late  as  April  or  May,  depending  upon  the  season. 

Their  breeding  in  the  Southern  States  is  rare,  if  the 
season  be  favorable  for  early  migration,  as  they  prefer 
grounds  farther  north;  but  the  season  being  cold  and 
backward,  some  make  short  migrations,  and  go  at  once 
to  breeding.  Again,  there  may  be  a  few  broods  raised 
near  their  winter  habitat,  on  account  of  the  inability  of 
the  old  birds  to  accompany  their  tribe;  so  everywhere 
may  the  woodcock  be  considered  a  migratory  bird,  as  the 
isolated  cases  of  their  breeding  in  the  far  South  are  the 
exceptions. 

In  sections  where  the  woodcock  breed  as  early  as  Feb- 
ruary, they  may  rear  a  second  brood;  but  in  their  northern 
homes  they  do  not,  unless  their  first  nesting  is  destroyed, 
when  they  go  to  work  at  once  to  repair  the  injury. 

Usually  reaching  the  Middle  States  in  March,  the 
Xew  England  States  in  April,  this  desire  to  return  ><> 
early  to  their  breeding-grounds  often  meets  with  a  cold 
reception.  The  great  storm  of  March,  1888,  was,  no  doubt, 
the  shroud  of  manv  a  woodcock. 


THE    WOODCOCK.  35 

When  first  the  bluebirds  twitter  in  the  orchards  and  the 
robins  sing  their  morning  songs,  then  may  we  look  for  the 
coming  of  the  woodcock;  for  the  deep  snows  of  our 
northern  clime  have  nearly  gone,  and  the  warm  rains 
have  swelled  the  rills  to  rivers  and  moistened  the  loam 
along  their  banks. 

Although  it  may  freeze  somewhat  at  night  in  the  more 
open  glades,  there  are  many  streams  flowing  among  the 
hills  and  winding  through  the  sheltered  lowlands  where 
Jack  Frost  has  performed  his  last  work  for  the  winter 
gone. 

Here  upon  these  banks,  softened  by  the  sun's  warm 
rays,  woodcock  feed,  and  here,  later  on,  amid  the  alder- 
covered  environs  and  down  in  the  bottom-lands,  they  nest 
and  rear  their  broods. 

Although  they*  are  well-known  lovers  of  fens  and 
alder-glades,  and  generally  nest  in  such  places — doubtless 
from  the  fact  of  its  being  much  easier  to  feed  their  young 
—still  an  occasional  pair,  wiser,  perhaps,  than  their  gen- 
eration, or  more  willing  to  work  for  the  support  of  their 
family,  will  select  some  spot  high  and  dry,  even  though 
quite  distant  from  their  feeding-grounds;  and  whatever 
the  labor,  they  are  well  repaid,  since  there  is  not  the 
danger  from  heavy  rains  that  continually  threatens  the 
lower  breeding-grounds. 

The  woodcock,  unlike  the  ruffed  grouse,  is  satisfied 
with  a  single  mate,  the  choice  being  made  in  the  course 
of  their  flight,  or  just  before  setting  out  on  their  north- 
ward journey;  for  soon  after  their  arrival,  the  weather 
being  propitious,  they  commence  a  skilled  and  careful 
inspection  of  the  breeding-grounds,  to  find  a  suitable 
nesting-place.  This  skill  consists  not  in  building — for  a 
woodcock' s  nest  is  rather  a  poor  specimen  of  bird  archi- 
tecture— 1  nit  in  selecting  some  spot  where  little  effort  is 
required  to  construct  a  nest,  and  where  the  immediate 


86  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

surroundings  are  such  that  there  is  nothing  to  distinguish 
it.  In  this  nest,  built  among  a  few  loose  twigs  and 
leaves,  or,  perhaps,  in  a  slight  depression  amid  a  bunch 
of  withered  grass,  the  eggs  are  laid.  They  are  four  in 
number,  quite  round  in  form,  of  a  dull  clay-color,  covered 
with  brownish  spots,  and  in  size  corresponding  -to  those 
of  the  pigeon. 

The  male  bird,  no  doubt,  assists  his  mate  in  incubation, 
since  they  are  such  voracious  feeders  that  a  great  deal  of 
time  must  be  consumed  in  obtaining  food;  and  as  they 
feed  in  the  cool  of  the  early  evening  and  morning,  the 
eggs  would  soon  become  chilled  unless  protected. 

During  this  period,  which  is  about  three  weeks,  the 
sitting  bird  is  quite  easy  to  approach,  as  she  seems  to 
know  that  silence  is  her  best  protection,  and  indeed  it  is, 
for  the  coloring  of  her  plumage  so  blends  with  the  sur- 
roundings that  he  must  have  sharp  eyes  to  find  the  nest 
which  she  so  silently  protects. 

The  young  being  hatched,  a  transformation  scene  takes 
place,  for  then,  especially  at  eventide  and  early  morning, 
all  is  bustle  and  activity,  the  parent  birds  having  a  busy 
time  in  caring  for  their  little  family,  which  is  more  help- 
less than  that  of  the  grouse  or  the  quail,  and  sometimes, 
before  the  fledgelings  are  able  to  fly,  have  to  be  carried 
from  one  feeding-ground  to  another. 

It  is  stated  by  some  authorities  that  the  young  are 
carried  upon  the  back  of  the  parent  bird,  clinging  there 
with  bill  and  toes;  again,  that  they  are  carried  between 
the  thighs,  being  held  there  partly  by  the  aid  of  the  bill 
and  the  tail;  the  position  of  the  bill,  pointed  downward 
during  flight,  unless  distinctly  seen,  would  tend  to  con- 
vey this  idea.  I  have  never  seen  the  young  carried  in 
either  of  these  ways,  but  have  seen  them  transported 
from  place  to  place,  grasped  by  the  long,  slender  toes  of 
the  old  bird  and  drawn  up  closely  to  the  body. 


THE   WOODCOCK.  37 

The  young  woodcock,  when  first  hatched,  very  much 
resemble  bantam  chicks,  with  the  exception  of  their  eyes 
and  bills,  although  even  in  these  respects  the  difference 
is  not  marked. 

The  parent  birds  are  very  solicitous  for  their  little 
ones,  and  when  their  domain  is  encroached  upon,  endeavor 
by  all  the  arts  known  to  bird-land  to  attract  attention 
to  themselves,  with  a  warning  to  their  downy  chicks  to 
drop  silently  and  closely  to  the  ground  or  to  scatter  in 
different  directions. 

How  her  cry  causes  the  little  ones  to  disappear 
upon  an  approach!  How  she  flutters  and  feigns  to  be 
lame  and  wounded,  leading  you  a  merry  chase,  if 
you  will  only  follow,  anywhere,  everywhere,  through 
the  glades,  to  guard  against  any  possible  danger  to  her 
family! 

She  will  lead  you  a  winding  course,  and  then  you  see 
her  no  more,  for  having  successfully  decoyed  you,  she  is 
off  on  pinions  swift,  noiseless,  and  strong  from  maternal 
love.  Taking  a  wide  circle  in  her  flight,  she  returns  to 
the  vicinity  of  her  young,  and  dropping  quietly  to  the 
ground,  listens  a  little  for  the  step  of  her  pursuer;  all  is 
still;  her  ruse  has  been  successful;  not  a  sound  or  move- 
ment, save  here  and  there  the  song  of  some  forest  thrush 
or  sparrow,  or  the  hopping  of  the  tiny  wren  from  bough 
to  bough,  either  of  which  contains  no  terrors  for  her  little 
ones,  who  are  listening  for  that  call  of  safety  which  never 
yet  deceived  them. 

The  mother's  large  dark  eyes  gleam  with  eagerness,  as 
her  low,  guttural  "peek,  peek,  peek"  draws  forth  the 
fainter  answers  from  her  little  ones,  that,  rising  slowly 
from  the  ground,  or  appearing  from  under  leaf  or  twig, 
rush  with  flapping  wings  to  meet  their  mother,  who,  with 
a  tender  care  that  would  melt  a  poacher  s  heart,  guides 
her  fledgelings  through  all  the  dangers  that  beset  their 


38  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

paths  by  day,  and  when  the  sun  has  gone  from  sight, 
directs  them  through  the  pleasures  of  the  night. 

Woodcock,  in  their  intercourse  with  each  other,  dis- 
play none  of  that  pugnacious  spirit  possessed  by  the 
quail  and  grouse,  and  are  altogether  more  loving  in 
their  ways,  and  seemingly  better  satisfied  with  their 
surroundings. 

It  is  during  the  warm  spring  evenings  that  one  may 
hear,  by  visiting  the  breeding-grounds,  the  song  of  the 
woodcock;  and  the  love-notes  of  the  male,  though  not  so 
soft  as  those  of  the  thrush,  are  far  sweeter  than  the  strains 
of  many  a  well-reputed  songster,  doubtless  sounding  as 
sweet  to  his  lady-bird  down  in  the  ferns  as  any  sere- 
nade ever  sung  by  ardent  lover. 

With  guttural  prelude  to  his  song  while  on  the 
ground,  he  circles  upward  -  in  his  flight  through  the 
twilight,  till,  lost  to  sight,  his  notes  are  heard  high  in  the 
air,  not  unlike  those  of  a  night-hawk;  but  it  is  in  his 
downward  flight  that  the  full  melody  of  his  love-song  is 
heard,  as  he  approaches  the  female  who  is  awaiting  him; 
resting  a  few  moments,  he  repeats  his  upward  flight  and 
song,  and  at  intervals  repeats  this  performance  until 
darkness  has  shut  out  the  last  glimmer  of  the  daylight. 
Who  would  suppose  that  this  bird,  indifferent  as  he 
seems  in  the  day-time  to  all  sentiment,  could  sing  such 
love-songs  in  the  gloaming? 

There  is  no  bird  family  of  all  our  fields  and  forests  so 
peculiar  in  its  ways,  or  any  whose  ways  are  so  hard  to 
study,  and  consequently  so  little  understood.  Woodcock 
do  not  fly  about  during  the  day  for  either  food  or  pleasure, 
rarely  taking  wing  unless  disturbed,  seeking  rest  and  quiet 
all  day  long  away  from  human  eyes;  but  when  the  sun  has 
set,  and  most  good  birds  have  gone  to  bed,  they  start  out 
for  their  feeding-ground. 

They  seem  to  know  by  intuition  what  loam  contains 


THE   WOODCOCK.  39 

the  fattest,  freshest  worms,  what  bog  contains  the 
choicest  loam,  and  by  their  borings  leave  for  us,  other- 
wise unsophisticated  in  woodcock  logic,  indications  of 
their  presence. 

I  know  of  bogs,  meadows,  fens,  and  alder-covers  that 
topographically,  and  from  all  evidence  gained  by  man  in 
general,  are  seemingly  as  worthy  of  a  woodcock's  choice 
as  those  wherein  they  dwell  and  feed,  but,  for  all  that,  are 
never  inhabited  by  these  long-billed  birds.  No  matter 
how  favorable  such  grounds  may  seem  to  the  casual 
observer,  they  contain  none  of  the  worms  and  larvae  upon 
which  woodcock  feed;  and  such  grounds,  upon  a  careful 
examination,  will  be  found  to  be  either  sandy  or  so  hard 
that  woodcock  supplies  can  not  exist,  or  else  sour  and 
rank,  as  the  growth  of  grass  may  indicate.  I  know  of  a 
favorite  cover,  through  which  a  tiny  brook  picks  its 
course,  whose  waters  are  strongly  tainted  with  iron,  and 
yet  woodcock  bore  upon  its  banks,  and  are  amply 
rewarded  for  their  labors;  possibly  they  are  invalids,  who 
go  there  for  treatment;  if  so,  they  are  fortunate  in  having 
mineral  springs  so  easy  of  access. 

Woodcock  have  no  choice  as  to  the  locality  of  their 
feeding-grounds,  if  only  the  proper  food  may  be  found, 
and  in  many  a  country  village  there  are  rich  vegetable 
gardens  which  furnish  fine  feasts  to  wise  old  woodcock, 
who  do  not  hesitate  to  take  advantage  of  the  dusk  to 
visit  them,  and  whose  only  danger  at  such  times  is  from 
the  telegraph  wires  or  from  the  prowling  house-cat. 

Often,  when  the  feeding-ground  is  quite  distant  from 
suitable  covers,  the  birds  may  be  seen  at  dusk,  rising 
spirit-like  from  the  deep  gloom  of  the  woods,  and,  darting 
athwart  the  sky,  dropping  to  the  low,  wet  meadows,  bogs, 
and  brook-sides  beyond. 

They  well  know  where  to  find  the  proper  food,  how  to 
get  it  when  found,  and  the  exact  moment  in  which  to 


40  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

present  their  bills — they  are  long  ones,  too — for  pay- 
ment. 

It  must  not  be  understood  that  woodcock  never  feed 
between  the  hours  of  dawn  and  sunset,  for  I  have  caught 
them  at  their  borings  where  a  dark  morass,  studded  with 
pools,  each  bordered  with  deep,  rich  loam,  furnished  the 
choicest  food,  and  where  the  alders  were  so  thick  that 
the  sunlight  could  not  reach  the  ground  beneath,  and 
low  upon  the  earth  all  was  dark  and  still,  save  the  hum 
of  insects  and  the  purling  of  the  brook.  Again,  one  day 
in  early  autumn,  I  came  upon  a  woodcock  in  a  meadow 
corn-field.  I  watched  him  for  some  time  probing  the  soft, 
moist  soil,  until,  either  becoming  weary  in  well-doing  or 
suspicious  of  my  presence,  he  walked  slowly  away,  with 
bobbing  head,  from  his  last  feast,  for  I  then  flushed  and 
shot  him.  And  again,  one  dark,  rainy  morning  in  July, 
about  8  o'clock,  as  I  was  driving  along  a  road  which 
had  recently  been  repaired  from  the  rich  soil  of  a  neigh- 
boring alder-flat,  a  woodcock  flushed  in  front  of  me,  and 
then  another,  and  another,  and  another.  As  soon  as 
possible  I  stopped  my  horse,  and  again  saw  them,  only  a 
few  rods  distant,  busily  feeding;  punch,  push,  probe, 
pull,  and  worm  after  worm,  brought  toward  the  surface 
by  the  warm  rain,  was  drawn  from  the  soft  road,  not  by 
suction,  but  by  the  good  muscular  efforts  of  those  long 
bills.  Driving  on,  they  flushed  again;  but  loath  to  leave 
such  a  delicious  breakfast,  they  would  not  take  to  the 
covers,  and  stopping,  feeding,  flushing,  for  more  than 
fifty  rods,  that  quartette  of  woodcock  kept  the  highway 
until  there  were  open  fields  upon  either  side  of  them, 
when,  with  a  curve  in  their  flight,  they  turned  back  and 
disappeared  in  the  cover. 

Curious  birds  are  they,  forever  presenting  to  him  who 
studies  their  modes  of  life  new  phases  of  character. 
Their  complete  history  has  never  yet  been  written. 


THE    WOODCOCK.  41 

I  have  often  pictured  them  upon  stormy  nights  feed- 
ing beneath  the  cover  of  overhanging  tree-lined  banks,  or 
in  open  marsh  and  fen,  and  wondered  -if  their  actions 
were  as  solemn  then  as  in  the  daylight.  It  must  be  sad 
work  in  such  weather,  indeed  almost  funereal,  and  the 
joy,  like  that  of  many  a  human  life,,  be  the  anticipation 
of  the  coming  rest. 

In  festal  moods,  no  doubt  they  pass  many  a  night  in 
revelry,  by  the  margin  of  some  favorite  pool,  whose 
mirrored  surface  reflects  the  star-lit  zenith,  with  the  moon 
high  above  for  a  chandelier,  and  the  wind-anthems 
through  the  tree-tops  for  music.  Perhaps,  too,  they 
have  some  knowledge  of  astronomy,  understand  the 
twinkling  of  the  stars,  study  the  signs  of  the  zodiac, 
thereby  learning  when  to  time  their  flights,  and  plac- 
ing great  reliance  upon  the  moon's  phases,  and  the 
tale  which  she  tells  them,  as  they  watcli  her  course;  for 
they  take  their  migratory  flights  by  the  pale  light  of  the 
moon,  rather  than  by  the  bright  rays  of  the  mid-day  sun. 

What  other  of  our  upland  game  birds  enjoys  such 
nightly  revels?  The  upland  plover  flies  by  night,  and  its 
plaintive  call,  half  sad,  half  glad,  may  be  heard  wavering 
upon  the  evening  air;  but  it  feeds  by  day,  and  does  not, 
like  the  woodcock,  indulge  in  nocturnal. feasts. 

Woodcock  are  a  riddle  to  the  spoilsman,  who  knows 
them  best,  while  to  those  without  the  pale  of  field-sports 
they  are  known  only  as  their  name  is  read  upon  some 
tempting  menu,  or  as  they  are  brought  to  the  table, 
served  with  highest  culinary  skill. 

To  him  who,  in  the  early  summer,  with  rod  in  hand, 
follows  some  trout-brook  as  it  dashes  down  from  among 
the  hills  and  out  through  the  interval,  they  often,  for  an 
instant,  show  their  mottled  plumage  ere  they  whistle 
from  sight  in  the  thick,  green  foliage,  and  leave  him  gaz- 
ing with  eager  eyes  at  "  what  might  have  been." 


42  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

To  the  rustic  lad,  and  the  farmer,  upon  whose  land, 
among  the  glades  and  swamps,  they  breed,  they  are 
unseen,  unknown,  or,  if  seen,  known  only  as  "whistling 
snipe,"  "timber  doodles,"  or  by  some  other  such  pro- 
vincial name;  and  should  one  make  an  inquiry  for  wood- 
cock, he  would  probably  be  directed  to  the  old  trees  in 
the  orchard  or  upon  the  hill-top,  but  almost  never  to  the 
proper  covers;  for  the  farmer  is  not  as  familiar  with  these 
bird-tenants  of  his  freehold  as  with  the  quail,  the  ruffed 
grouse,  and  many  others  of  the  feathered  tribe  who 
encroach  upon  his  domain. 

Sometimes  in  the  early  summer  mornings,  as  he  mows 
the  swale,  they  spring  from  before  him,  and  are  seen 
only  for  an  instant  ere  they  drop  farther  down  among  the 
low-grown  willows,  leaving  him  to  wonder  whether  he 
saw  a  bird  or  spirit;  and  I  myself  often  wonder  that  it  is 
not  the  spirits  of  woodcock  only  that  are  seen,  consider- 
ing the  warfare  that  has  been  waged  upon  the  tribe  for 
so  many  years,  in  season  and  out  of  season — north, 
south,  east,  and  west,  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  and  indeed  from  the  setting  to  the  rising  again— 
by  that  execrable  practice  of  fire-hunting  practiced  in 
some  sections  of  the  South.  Truly,  their  time  of  peace  is 
very  limited.  Permitted  by  law,  in  some  States,  to  be 
shot  before  they  are  fairly  fledged,  they  know  no  safety 
from  that  time  on  until  they  once  more  return  to  their 
breeding-places,  and  for  a  few  weeks  out  of  the  fifty-two 
are  granted  a  short  respite  during  their  nesting  and 
hatching. 

Summer  cock-shooting  must  be  everywhere  abolished, 
to  save  the  tribe,  already  becoming  scarce  in  many  sec- 
tions which  formerly  held  them  in  great  numbers.  It  is 
true  that,  owing  to  the  increase  in  population,  large  tracts 
of  swamps,  rich  with  the  best  of  soil,  have  been  cleared, 
drained,  and  reclaimed;  and  now  the  field-sparrow  sings 


THE    WOODCOCK.  43 

and  nests  where  woodcock  used  to  breed  and  furnish 
shooting. 

Again,  as  woodcock  have  decreased,  the  men  who  shoot 
have  increased,  and  just  so  much  more  should  their 
intelligent  protection  be  enforced.  As  for  summer  shoot- 
ing, it  is  cruel  and  wrong,  both  in  theory  and  practice, 
and  no  manner  of  logic  can  make  it  right. 

It  is  strange  that  the  selfish  pleadings  of  a  few  should 
have  the  power  to  enact  laws  permitting  summer  shoot- 
ing; or,  if  enacted  in  times  past,  when  it  seemed  folly  to 
be  wise,  should  have  sufficient  force  to  overrule  all  those 
who  would  legislate  from  a  higher  standpoint,  and  seek 
to  preserve  one  of  the  choicest  game  birds  known. 
Granting,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  summer  shoot- 
ing has  but  little  to  do  with  the  decrease  in  the  number 
of  woodcock,  no  one,  not  even  its  most  zealous  advocate, 
can  deny  that  there  is  not  only  a  possibility,  but  a  proba- 
bility, of  its  having  some  deleterious  effect  upon  these 
birds.  Why  not,  then,  keep  upon  the  safe  side,  and  for- 
bid killing  woodcock  until  the  season  legitimate  for  field- 
sports  shall  arrive. 

After  all,  what  is  there  in  summer  shooting  to  draw 
one  forth?  It  can  not  be  that  they  are  more  easily  killed 
than  in  autumn,  for,  although  not  so  swift  and  strong  of 
wing,  their  flights  are  fully  as  erratic,  and  the  covers, 
thick  with  their  wealth  of  leaves,  block  the  aim. 

It  can  not  be  the  desire  for  healthful  pleasure  afield 
with  dog  and  gun,  for  a  summer  day  holds  no  exhilara- 
tion when  the  sun  shines  hot  upon  pasture-lands  that  lie 
dried  and  withered  beneath  his  scorching  rays;  when  the 
grass  upon  new-mown  fields  is  struggling  to  show  a  tinge 
of  green;  when  not  a  cloud  flecks  the  sultry  sky,  and  the 
cattle  upon  the  hill-sides  stand  beneath  the  friendly  shade 
of  wide-spreading  trees;  when  down  in  the  alder-flats, 
although  the  sun  may  not  reach  the  sportsman's  path, 


44  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  air  is  stifling,  and  the  mosquitoes  are  in  swarms  about 
him,  while  his  dog  is  nearly  exhausted  from  his  efforts 
to  find  the  half-grown  birds. 

Where  the  law  permits  this  summer  shooting,  some 
feign  to  enjoy  it,  because  there  is  nothing  else  to  shoot; 
others — and  there  are  many  of  them — are  drawn  forth  by 
the  market  price  of  the  early  birds;  while  still  others 
claim  that  in  certain  sections,  unless  hunted  before  leav- 
ing their  breeding-grounds,  there  can  be  no  shooting,  as 
the  birds  do  not  return,  but,  when  through  their  moult, 
start  on  their  southern  flight— which  will  prove  true  in 
the  near  future,  if  this  pernicious  habit  is  not  abolished, 
for  there  will  be  no  woodcock  to  return. 

The  uncertainty  of  our  seasons  is  another  very  excel- 
lent reason  why  July  cock-shooting  should  everywhere 
be  abolished.  One  year  the  season  may  be  early,  and 
favorable  to  their  nesting,  hatching,  and  rearing  their 
broods;  the  next  year  the  heavy  snows  may  retard  their 
'early  migrations  and  nesting,  and  later  the  floods  destroy 
the  nests  or  young,  so  that  the  second  broods  are  not  half- 
grown  by  July,  and  are  in  no  way  suitable  for  gun  or 
table;  but,  supposing  that  July  of  each  year  finds  the 
young  well  grown,  still  the  habit  of  hunting  them  at  this 
season  is  disastrous  to  the  race. 

These  are  happy  nursery  days  for  the  young  wood- 
cock, and  should  be  guarded  by  every  true  lover  of 
Nature. 

Many  a  young  ruffed  grouse  meets  his  death  at  this 
season,  for  "shooting  woodcock,"  by  men  who  never 
shoot  them  later,  is  simply  an  excuse  for  being  in  sum- 
mer covers  where  many  a  fledgeling  grouse  helps  to  fill 
the  bag. 

Someone  may  tell  you  that  lie  never  shoots  half- 
grow^  birds;  but  "to  err  is  human,"  and  when  a  bird 
flushes  in  thick  cover  before  the  setter's  point  or  the 


(45) 


46  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

spaniel's  spring,  where  the  quickest  snap-shot  is  required, 
he  must  have  a  prophet's  eye  who  can  tell  whether  it  be 
fledgeling  or  full-grown  bird.  Avoid  such  uncertainty, 
and  do  not  put  temptation  in  the  sportsman' s  path. 

There  has  always  been  a  mystery  connected  with  the 
woodcock's  disappearance  during  the  moulting  season, 
and  various  theories  have  been  advanced  in  explanation: 
some  claim  that  they  remain  in  their  breeding-grounds, 
but  can  not  be  found,  as  they  give  no  scent,  and  will  not 
flush;  some,  that  they  betake  themselves  to  the  corn- 
fields, and  can  be  found  there  in  numbers;  some,  that 
they  fly  to  the  high  mountains  and  ridges,  where  no  one 
ever  thinks  of  looking  for  them;  while  still  others  assert 
that  upon  leaving  their  breeding-ground  they  migrate 
farther  north.  Each  and  all  seem  to  attribute  this  dis- 
appearance to  their  moulting,  without  taking  into  con- 
sideration the  fact  that  there  may  be  other  causes.  Do 
not  all  birds  moult?  and  why  should  these  not  disappear 
as  well,  if  the  cause  be  only  the  casting  off  of  an  old 
gown,  and  the  taking  on  of  a  new  one? 

After  a  careful  comparison  of  the  different  years  in 
which  I  have  studied  the  habits  of  these  birds,  and 
recalling  some  unusually  wet  Augusts,  when  they  seemed 
to  remain  in  numbers  in  their  summer  haunts,  my  con- 
clusion is  that  their  disappearance  is  not  so  much  due  to 
their  moulting,  as  to  the  effect  that  the  season  may  have 
upon  their  feeding-grounds. 

Woodcock  are  great  gourmands,  and  the  drought, 
which  usually  comes  about  the  time  they  begin  to  moult, 
dries  up  and  hardens  the  places  where  they  have  lived, 
loved,  and  fed  all  the  summer  long,  thus  necessitating 
a  change,  and  so  they  scatter;  and  if,  in  certain  sections. 
they  disappear,  although  their  grounds  are  apparently 
capable  of  furnishing  food,  it  is  only  that  appearances 
are  deceitful,  and  the  food  is  not  there  in  reality.  The 


THE   WOODCOCK.  47 

young  are  able  to  take  care  of  themselves  by  this  time, 
and  do  not  need  the  parents'  solicitous  attention,  and 
whether  found  alone  by  some  secluded  spring,  deep  in 
the  recesses  of  the  hills,  or  in  numbers  in  some  back- 
woods swamp,  it  is  simply  another  phase  of  that  great 
question  which  agitates  so  many  minds — that  of  supply 
and  demand. 

There  may  be  a  few  birds  willing  to  eke  out  an  exist- 
ence in  the  wettest  portions  of  their  old  haunts,  others 
who  choose  the  corn-tields,  if  they  be  moist  enough,  and 
still  others  who  know  of  springs  among  the  mountains, 
which  early  in  the  season  reached  the  lowlands,  moist- 
ening the  loam,  but  now  lose  their  waters  in  more  imme- 
diate surroundings. 

Among  the  hills  there  are  swamps  rarely  visited  by 
man,  which,  flooded  in  the  earlier  summer,  now  expose 
their  soil,  furnishing  line  feeding- grounds  for  woodcock. 
In  such  places  I  have  found  woodcock  in  fair  numbers 
during  the  period  of  their  moult,  and  I  know  of  a  pond 
nestling  in  the  depression  of  a  high  ridge  of  pasture-land, 
forty  rods  away  from  the  nearest  grove  of  birches,  pines, 
and  maples,  where,  in  the  spring,  the  dusky -duck  stops 
to  rest  and  feed,  that  in  August,  when  the  hot  sun  has 
absorbed  its  waters,  shows  countless  woodcock  borings, 
while  in  the  covers  near,  the  moulting  birds  may  be 
flushed.  After  a  week  of  sunshine,  the  soil  becomes 
parched,  and  that  place  knows  them  no  more  until 
another  season  shall  have  run  its  course. 

Even  now,  though  one  know  where  to  find  them,  there 
is  no  more  real  pleasure  in  their  pursuit  than  in  July,  for 
the  chill  of  autumn  is  not  yet  in  the  air,  nor  are  the 
birds  plump  of  body,  or  smooth  and  glossy  of  feather; 
but  when  the  heat  of  summer  days  and  nights  is  on  the 
wane,  and  the  forest  is  changing  its  robe  of  green  to  one 
of  many  colors;  when  the  crops  have  all  been  garnered, 


48  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

and  the  grass  and  clover  are  springing  green  again  in  the 
stubbled  fields;  when  the  corn  is  ripe  and  ready  to  be 
husked — then,  and  not  until  then,  can  the  sportsman 
take  the  field  with  dog  and  gun,  restrained  by  no  twinge 
of  conscience,  forbidden  by  no  law;  and  he  who  has  waited 
all  these  days  is  well  repaid  for  waiting,  for  the  wood- 
cock is  altogether  a  different  bird  from  what  it  is  when 
found  in  the  summer  months;  its  dress  is  richer  in  its 
coloring,  its  body  fast  gaining  that  rotundity  which 
comes  only  when  free  from  the  worry  of  moulting  and 
finding  food  where  food  is  scarce;  its  flight  shows  far 
more  vigor,  and  the  whistle  of  its  wings  is  sharper, 
louder,  clearer  than  before. 

This  whistle  is  another  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
woodcock  which  are  so  puzzling.  It  does  not  come  from 
the  throat  and  bill,  as  would  naturally  be  supposed,  but 
from  the  pinions  as  they  cleave  the  air.  I  have  held  a 
woodcock  by  the  legs,  and  heard  this  whistle  as  it  flut- 
tered to  escape,  and  to  satisfy  myself  that  the  noise  was 
made  by  its  wings,  have  grasped  it  by  the  neck  and  bill, 
and  still  that  whistle;  but  when  the  wings  stopped  beat- 
ing, the  whistle  ceased.  The  woodcock  possesses  vocal 
powers  of  no  mean  order,  as  its  love-songs  during  its 
breeding-season  testify;  bat  the  whistle  when  the  bird  is 
flushed  is  not  the  result  of  vocal  effort. 

Examine  the  pinions,  and  you  will  find  the  first  three 
feathers  altogether  different  from  the  others — shorter 
and  narrower — and  in  this  difference  lies  that  mysterious 
whistle.  It  takes  great  force  to  start  the  woodcock  in  its 
perpendicular  flight,  and  the  resistance  offered  to  its 
wings  must  be  immense,  since  its  body  keeps  about  the 
same  relative  position,  with  bill  pointed  downward,  that 
it  has  when  its  course  is  horizontal,  and  the  air  rushing 
through  the  first  three  feathers  of  each  pinion  makes  the 
whistle,  which  ceases  when  the  angle  of  resistance  is 


THE   WOODCOCK.  49 

varied  by  the  change  of  flight.  No  other  of  our  upland 
game  birds  whistles  in  its  flight,  for  no  other  possesses 
these  peculiar  characteristics. 

I  have  flushed  moulting  birds  when  these  first  three 
feathers  were  imperfect,  and  only  the  faintest  whistle 
caught  my  ear;  and  I  have  seen  them  glide  away  from 
their  nesting -places  with  full-fledged  pinions  and  make 
no  noise.  But  when  their  course  is  upward,  or  at  a  cer- 
tain angle,  in  their  startled  flight,  the  whistle  tells  of 
their  presence — a  sound  as  sweet  to  the  sportsman,  when 
out  with  dog  and  gun,  as  was  ever  the  music  of  ./Eolian 
lyre  to  Apollo' s  ear,  and,  like  that,  variable,  irresponsible, 
sounding  only  to  the  rushing  of  the  wind. 

During  the  cool  moonlight  nights  of  September — that 
golden  month  of  the  harvest  moon — woodcock  commence 
to  leave  their  sylvan  boudoirs,  where  they  have  changed 
their  summer  dress,  and  visit  the  southern  hill-sides, 
sunny  glades,  and  tinted  brakes,  there  to  linger  until  the 
sharper  frosts  shall  warn  them  to  be  on  their  journey, 
ere  the  winter  snows  fly  among  the  naked  trees  and  cover 
the  brown  hills  and  meadows. 

But  it  is  when  October's  scenes  are  full  upon  us,  and 
their  beauty  reigns  supreme  by  .the  dashing^streams,  in 
the  woodlands,  and  along  the  furrowed  hill-sides,  that 
the  finest  woodcock-shooting  is  enjoyed  throughout  the 
northern  covers.  And  what  can  excel  an  October  day, 
when  the  morning  is  clear  and  fresh,  and  the  frost  of  the 
night  before,  harbinger  of  the  woodcock's  flight,  whitens 
the  fence-tops  and  fallen  trees,  and  hangs  sparkling  and 
dripping  from  the  lichen-covered  tree-trunks,  and  from 
every  leaf  and  twig,  while  the  grasses,  wet  with  the  dew 
which  came  at  sunset,  are  one  mass  of  fretted  silver?  or 
what,  when  the  midday  sun  casts  over  land  and  water 
that  misty  veil  so  peculiar  to  autumnal  months,  giving  to 
the  pine  and  hemlock  a  softer  hue  than  at  any  other 


50  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

season,  and  to  the  swamp  maple  and  the  oak  a  deeper 
tinge,  blending  so  perfectly  with  the  yellow  of  the  birch 
and  beech?  Or  what  can  surpass  the  setter's  work — the 
eager,  swift,  yet  cautious,  pace,  the  quick  turn  on  scent 
of  game,  the  poise  so  stanch  and  true?  or  what  the 
active  reading  of  the  cocker-spaniel  and  his  merry  yelp 
when  the  bird  is  flushed?  Truly  these  are  glorious  days; 
golden  links  between  heated  summer  and  cold  winter; 
and  of  all  who  love  these  days,  woodcock  seem  to  love 
them  most,  and  are  wont  to  take  advantage  of  them  as 
they  wing  their  way  to  southern  grounds,  furnishing  in 
their  flights  the  best  of  sport;  for  though  one  shoots  a 
favorite  cover  clean,  two  or  three  moonlight,  frosty 
nights  will  bring  others  to  it  again. 

But  when  the  cold  blasts  of  November  rush  through 
the  leafless  trees,  and  the  cold  nights  freeze  the  loam  too 
hard  for  the  woodcock's  bill,  then  they  whistle  their 
adieux,  and  are  off  for  a  warmer  clime,  moving  south- 
ward, as  in  the  early  spring  they  came  northward,  with 
the  change  of  seasons,  until  December  finds  them  again 
established  in  their  winter  quarters. 

How  the  whistle  of  a  flushed  woodcock  on  an  autumn 
morning  stirs  the  blood!  what  a  thrill  it  sends  dancing 
along  the  nerves!  None  can  excel  it;  not  even  the  ruffed 
grouse,  as  he  springs  like  a  feathery  rocket  from  the 
bank  above  one' s  head,  or  from  the  evergreens  almost  at 
one's  feet;  nor  the  grouse  of  the  western  plains,  as  he 
rushes  from  the  stubble;  nor  the  quail,  as  he  whirs  from 
the  sedge  or  corn-field;  nor  yet  the  snipe,  as  he  twists 
away  upon  the  wind. 

The  woodcock,  too,  is  unlike  these  birds  in  the  man- 
ner of  its  flight.  When  flushed,  they  are  up  and  away- 
one  may  be  very  sure  of  that;  but  the  woodcock  is  quite 
as  likely  to  come  into  one's  face  as  to  go  elsewhere,  for 
there  can  be  no  dependence  whatever  placed  upon  its 


THE    WOODCOCK.  51 

flight;  and  that  very  uncertainty  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the 
magic  ties  that  bind  us  to  its  pursuit.  Yet  the  wood- 
cock is  no  dullard,  but  as  great  a  rascal  as  ever  flushed 
before  the  gun.  It  will  rise  straight  from  before  you,  as 
though  impelled  by  some  hidden  spring;  then,  taking  a 
dash  over  the  tree-tops,  pitch  just  behind,  not  two  rods 
from  where  it  was  stalled;  or  it  may  dart  through  the 
thicket  to  the  outside,  and  skimming  the  edge  quite  close 
to  the  ground,  drop  upon  the  very  margin,  or,  suddenly 
rising,  dart  back  into  the  deepest  portion  of  the  cover; 
or  if  the  dog  fails  to  catch  the  scent,  it  may  wait  until 
you  pass;  then,  when  your  back  is  turned,  steal  away 
without  even  a  note  of  warning. 

Again,  it  may  flush  rods  away,  a  veritable  coward,  or 
sit  in  an  open  spot,  like  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  seem- 
ingly indifferent  to  yourself,  dog,  and  gun,  arid  watch 
you  with  big,  staring  eyes.  Keep  still,  stare  it  out  of 
countenance,  if  you  can,  and  it  will  soon  take  flight,  but 
in  which  direction  no  one  can  tell — possibly  down  the 
open  pathway,  probably  straight  into  the  thickest 
bush,  where  a  sparrow  would  find  hard  work  to  force  its 
way. 

It  is  truly  wonderful  how  the  woodcock  directs  its 
flight,  for  no  matter  how  thick  the  trees  and  branches  to 
mar  your  aim,  it  skillfully  avoids  them,  and  leaves 
you  wondering  how  it  possibly  escaped  their  network. 
These  leafy  labyrinths  are  open  sailing  to  this  dark-eyed 
bird. 

Its  knowledge  of  curves  and  angles  is  shown  with 
mathematical  certainty;  and  in  the  moderately  open 
woods  it  knows  the  'exact  position  of  all  the  trees,  and 
will  dart  away,  twisting  its  flight  behind  these  bulwarks, 
so  safely  that  you  can  only  catch,  the  shadow  of  its  pin- 
ions, while  some  tree  catches  your  charge  of  shot.  At 
the  report  of  a  gun,  it  will  often  pitch  headlong  down 


52  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

into  a  tuft  of  grass  or  a  bunch  of  brakes,  even  if  caught 
on  the  open  hill-side,  thereby  giving  to  the  novice  the 
idea  that  it  is  killed  or  badly  wounded. 

But  put  no  faith  in  these  antics,  for  unless  well 
skilled  in  the  manner  of  its  flight  and  lighting,  you  will 
be  deceived,  and  upon  rushing  up  to  gather  the  bird  to 
bag.  find  only  a  strong  pair  of  wings  whistling  in  mock- 
ery at  your  eagerness,  as  with  a  sudden  spring  it  is  away 
for  the  cover. 

Although  the  woodcock  springs  from  its  resting-place, 
when  startled,  with  rapid,  vigorous,  and  not  too  graceful 
wings,  yet,  when  it  lights  in  a  moderately  open  spot,  its 
action  is  as  graceful  as  a  falling  leaf;  its  wings  fan  the 
air  for  a  moment,  its  slender  legs  drop  down  and  gently 
touch  their  resting-place,  and  the  bird  squats  slowly  to 
the  ground,  or,  the  spot  not  being  favorable,"  runs  a  few 
rods  before  finding  rest.  Again,  it  will  suddenly  turn,  as 
if  losing  its  balance,  and  dart  to  the  ground  with  half- 
closed  wings,  lying  wherever  it  pitches  until  routed  by 
the  pursuer.  I  say  the  ground,  as  woodcock  never  light 
upon  trees  or  fences — another  of  their  eccentricities. 

To  hunt  these  birds  successfully,  one  must  thor- 
oughly understand  their  habits,  know  the  time  of  their 
coming  and  going,  and  the  grounds  they  frequent  at  cer- 
tain seasons,  whether  wet  or  dry.  It  is  not  chance  that 
keeps  half  a  dozen  or  more  birds  resting  for  several  Octo- 
ber days  along  a  stretch  of  moss-covered  rocks  shaded  by 
pines  and  maples,  for  down  in  that  interval  the  soil  has 
been  turned  up  moist  and  fresh  by  the  farmer' s  plow,  the 
feed  then  is  delicious,  and  those  scattered  trees  afford 
sufficient  cover.  It  is  not  chance  that  brings  to  that  hill- 
side of  birches,  pines,  and  hemlocks  these  dreamy-eyed 
birds  in  autumn  weather,  for  here  and  there,  by  tiny 
springs  that  moisten  the  surrounding  soil,  enriched  by 
the  mold  of  fallen  leaves,  they  find  good  feeding.  You 


THE   WOODCOCK.  53 

did  not  find  them  there  last  year,  nor  the  year  before, 
for  both  years  were  dry,  the  loam  of  that  field  was  not 
turned  up,  and  those  little  springs  had  not  force  enough 
to  reach  the  surface.  Woodcock  love  a  sunny  spot  to 
lie  in  on  cold  autumn  days,  but  the  selection  of  this  spot 
is  governed  by  their  appetites. 

The  slopes,  covered  with  brakes  and  sapling  pines, 
are  the  choice  of  some;  the  knolls,  covered  with  birches, 
of  others;  the  alder-patch  and  willow- covered  interval  the 
favorite  resort  of  others.  When  the  season  is  wet  their 
feeding-grounds  are  more  extended,  and  they  more  scat- 
tered, consequently  it  requires  more  tramping  to  secure 
a  bag.  When  it  is  dry  they  are  harder  to  find,  but  when 
discovered,  are  in  numbers.  A  moderately  wet  autumn 
furnishes  the  best  woodcock- shooting,  all  other  things 
being  favorable. 

In  their  autumn  flights,  I  have  found  them  on  the 
highest  hills  and  in  the  lowest  covers,  under  hemlocks 
near  large  woods,  and  among  the  briar's  in  the  open  past- 
ure; and  one  day,  while  walking  along  a  river,  my  setter 
wheeled  to  a  point  among  the  rocks  under  a  thin  line  of 
alders;  I  walked  up  and  saw  a  woodcock  lying  on  a  little 
patch  of  sand,  headed  toward  the  hills.  Telling  my 
companion  to  shoot,  if  the  bird  should  start,  I  went  down 
the  stream  a  short  distance,  then  out  into  the  shallow 
water,  stepping  from  stone  to  stone  until  opposite  the 
bird.  I  tried  to  flush  it  by  throwing  pebbles;  it  would 
not  flush,  and  did  not,  until  the  young  dog,  becoming 
restless,  rushed  in,  when  with  characteristic  obstinacy 
the  bird  turned  and  came  straight  over  my  head.  My 
companion  dared  not  shoot,  and  in  turning  to  get  a  shot 
my  feet  slipped  on  the  rocks,  and  into  the  water  I  went. 
Apparently  having  accomplished  its  object,  the  wood- 
cock, when  half  way  across  the  stream,  turned,  and  just 
as  I  arose,  dripping  from  my  bath,  darted  past  me  for 


54  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

the  Mil-side  cover,  where  it  should  have  gone  in  the  first 
place.  It  was  particularly  gratifying  to  see  that  bird 
fall  before  my  companion's  shot. 

They  are  curious  birds  in  their  ways  before  the  gun, 
and  just  as  strange  when  performing  in  the  privacy  of 
their  woodland  homes;  and  I  well  remember  the  antics  at 
which  I  caught  one,  when  with  a  friend,  one  autumn 
day,  I  was  beating  a  high  hill-top  for  ruffed  grouse. 

Our  setter  came  to  a  point  toward  a  clump  of  pines, 
and  we  expected  to  hear  the  rush  of  a  startled  grouse; 
but  not  a  sound.  Peering  beneath  the  trees,  there  upon 
the  carpet  of  pine  needles  we  saw  a  woodcock,  strutting 
about  just  like  a  turkey-cock  in  miniature,  with  tail 
erect,  spread  like  a  fan,  and  drooping  wings,  nodding  its 
head  in  time  with  the  movement  of  its  feet,  as  though 
listening  to  music  we  could  not  hear.  It  wTas  a  droll 
scene,  and  at  the  same  time  picturesque — the  tall,  green 
pines  above  their  carpeting  of  red-brown  needles,  a  red 
dog  standing  in  perfect  pose,  with  outstretched  neck  and 
glaring  eyes,  a  small,  long-billed,  dark-eyed,  mottled 
bird  marching  to  and  fro  with  all  the  pomp  of  a  grena- 
dier, and  two  sportsmen  on  their  knees  as  silent  spec- 
tators. After  watching  it  for  some  time,  we  flushed  and 
shot  it,  and  in  beating  out  a  patch  of  pines  not  far  away, 
bagged  four  more. 

Although  woodcock  are  much  the  same  sort  of  birds 
wherever  found,  and  woodcock -shooting  much  the  same 
sort  of  sport  when  followed  legitimately,  still  there  are 
slight  variations,  depending  upon  the  topography  of  the 
different  sections  in  which  they  rest  and  feed. 

In  certain  parts  of  the  West  they  are  numerous  in 
extended  swamps  and  corn-fields,  while  in  other  sections 
it  would  be  useless  to  look  for  them  in  these  places, 
because  of  the  one  being  rank  and  sour  and  the  other 
dry  and  sandy. 


THE   WOODCOCK.  55 

In  the  South,  in  the  alluvial  and  swampy  portions  of 
Louisiana,  they  are  found  in  great  numbers  from  Decem- 
ber to  February;  but  upon  the  higher  land,  covered  with 
open  pine  forests,  they  are  rare,  except  where  such  bor- 
der lakes  and  streams.  In  the  thickets  along  the  rivers 
and  ponds,  in  the  little  branches,  in  the  low  switch-cane, 
and  among  the  dwarf  palmetto  near  swamps,  they  rest 
by  day,  and  feed  at  night  in  the  wet  savannahs  and 
neighboring  cultivated  fields.  Here,  as  in  their  northern 
quarters,  they  are  very  uncertain  as  to  localities,  for 
to-day  a  certain  thicket  may  be  full  of  them  and  to-mor- 
row not  a  bird  be  found. 

During  a  period  of  unusually  severe  weather,  they 
collect  in  the  warmer  swamps  in  vast  numbers;  and  in 
the  streets  and  gardens  of  Mandeville,  a  town  upon  the 
shore  of  Lake  Pontchartrain,  they  have  been  known  to 
collect  in  such  numbers  that  a  boy  killed  five  dozen  in  a 
single  day. 

Their  winter  habitat  extends  from  the  Carolinas 
along  the  southern  coast;  but  in  that  vast  undrained  terri- 
tory of  the  Texas  coast,  which  is  claimed  to  be  the  finest 
feeding-ground  for  the  jack-snipe  on  this  continent,  and 
where  they  abound  from  October  to  April,  woodcock  are 
never  seen. 

In  certain  sections,  when  they  take  to  the  wide,  open 
fields  for  feeding,  the  pot-hunter  kills  great  numbers  by 
the  light  of  torches,  which  so  bewilders  them  that  they 
are  easily  shot  or  beaten  down  with  clubs.  Although  in 
many  places  this  fire-hunting  has  been  given  up,  along 
the  Mississippi,  as  it  nears  the  Gulf,  and  on  some  of  the 
bayous,  notably  the  Bceuf,  and  along  the  Atchafalaya,  it 
is  still  practiced  to  some  extent,  owing  to  the  physical 
characteristics  of  the  country,  which,  it  is  claimed,  make 
it  almost  impossible  for  one  to  find  and  shoot  them  in 
their  day-time  haunts.  This  may  be  exciting,  but  has 


56  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

none  of  the  inspiration  of  true  sportsmanship,  any  more 
than  has  the  yarding  and  killing  of  deer  when  the  snow 
lies  too  deep  for  their  legitimate  pursuit. 

When  given  a  fair  field  and  fight,  woodcock  can  hold 
their  own  against  all  comers,  and  seem  at  times  to  set  all 
human  knowledge  of  their  ways  at  defiance,  puzzling  the 
most  experienced  hunter  to  find  them  with  success;  but 
it  is  usually  when  he,  unmindful  of  the  peculiarities  of 
the  country,  or  of  that  particular  season,  looks  for  them 
in  their  usual  haunts,  or  depends  upon  their  flights  being 
at  the  same  period  as  in  some  other  year,  different  in 
itself,  and  preceded  by  a  different  spring  and  summer. 

Woodcock,  before  their  migratory  flights,  are  some- 
what nomadic  in  their  ways,  changing  their  feeding- 
grounds  frequently,  thus  leading  many  to  believe  that 
they  are  on  their  southern  journey. 

The  autumnal  equinox,  if  followed  by  two  or  three 
sharp,  frosty  nights,  usually  starts  the  first  flight  south- 
ward, and  when  once  the  birds  commence  to  move  in  num- 
bers, one  may  be  sure  of  good  shooting.  A  still  day  is 
the  best  for  woodcock- shooting,  especially  if  following  a 
rain,  for  then  the  scent  lies  better,  and  so  do  the  birds. 
On  windy  days,  woodcock  are  wild,  and  usually  flush 
with  the  wind,  no  matter  which  way  it  blows.  The  idea 
that  when  found  in  their  autumn  flights  they  always 
flush  toward  the  south,  and  continue  in  that  direction, 
no  matter  how  often  started,  is  simply  a  theory  not  borne 
out  by  facts. 

These  birds  being  unlike  all  others  in  their  field 
tactics,  he  who  hunts  them  should  have  a  somewhat 
different  outfit  from  that  used  in  pursuit  of  other  game. 
The  choke-bore  is  out  of  place  in  a  woodcock  cover,  for 
it  either  misses  or  tears  the  bird  in  pieces,  and  a  heavy 
gun  has  no  advantage,  for  the  range  at  which  woodcock 
are  shot  is  usually  within  the  killing  power  of  the  cylin- 


THE   WOODCOCK.  57 

der-bore  and  light  charge,  and  even  half  a  pound  makes 
quite  a  difference  in  a  long  day's  tramp.  A  seven-pound, 
twelve-bore  gun,  with  barrels  twenty-eight,  or  even 
twenty-six,  inches  in  length,  loaded  with  three  drams  of 
powder — that  which  gives  least  recoil  and  smoke  pre- 
ferred— and  one  ounce  of  No.  12  shot  if  early  in  the 
season,  or  No.  10  if  later,  will,  if  held  straight,  render 
a  good  account  of  every  cock  that  rises. 

The  successful  woodcock  hunter  must  be  the  quickest 
shot  of  all  who  follow  the  dog  in  autumn  months.  A 
woodcock  gliding  down  an  open  glade  straight  away  is 
the  easiest  of  birds  to  kill,  but  when  one  springs  from 
its  resting-place  among  the  trees,  he  who  hesitates  is 
lost,  or  rather  the  bird  is,  for,  like  time  and  tide,  it  waits 
for  no  man.  There  are  covers  where  one  can  take  care- 
ful aim,  but  even  there,  owing  to  the  uncertainty  of  a 
woodcock's  flight,  the  snap-shot  is  the  most  successful. 
But  for  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  this  sport,  whatever 
one's  skill  with  the  gun  may  be,  he  must  bring  to  his 
aid  the  intelligence  of  the  dog,  and  the  choice  depends 
upon  the  character  of  the  covers  in  which  the  birds  are 
found.  In  some  covers  the  spaniel  is  no  doubt  the  most 
killing  dog,  provided  he  is  well  trained;  while  in  others, 
the  setter  or  the  pointer  is  to  be  preferred.  When  wood- 
cock are  found  in  covers  where  the  underbrush  is  thick 
and  matted,  along  the  banks  of  streams,  and  in  ravines 
where  alders,  willows,  or  briars  grow  so  thick  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  the  shooter  to  walk,  or  the 
pointing  dog  to  work,  a  small,  well-trained  spaniel  could 
penetrate  and  work  out  every  spot  and  tuft,  giving  warn- 
ing, by  a  stifled  whine,  of  the  flushing  of  the  bird,  while 
the  sportsman  remains  on  the  outside,  and  gets  an  open 
shot.  But  of  all  dogs,  unless  thoroughly  broken,  he  is 
the  most  exasperating  and  useless.  A  well-trained 
spaniel  should  range  within  a  few  paces  of  the  gun,  drop 


58  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

to  shot  and  wing,  and  retrieve;  he  should  do  all  this 
without  a  constant  hallooing  from  his  master;  but  to 
teach  him  requires  careful  attention  in  the  field,  strict 
discipline,  and  great  patience  at  all  times,  and  the  tui- 
tion must  begin  at  an  early  age.  Personally,  I  prefer 
the  pointing  dog — and  he  is  without  any  doubt  the  most 
popular  with  woodcock  shooters  throughout  the  United 
States — for  it  is  half  the  pleasure  in  upland  shooting  to 
see  the  highly  trained  setter  or  pointer  at  work;  and 
even  if  he  does,  in  his  higher-headed  range,  now  and 
then  pass  some  dense  thicket  that  contains  a  bird,  he 
will  more  than  make  up  for  it  in  the  pleasure  derived 
from  watching  his  graceful  attitudes  when  pointing,  and 
by  the  intelligence  displayed  in  giving  one  a  shot  in 
some  difficult  location.  Killing  the  birds  is  not  all  there 
is  in  upland  shooting. 

The  successful  woodcock  dog,  whether  setter  or 
pointer,  must,  first  of  all,  have  a  very  sensitive  nose — for 
the  bird  gives  out  but  little  scent — be  very  obedient, 
moderately  fast  and  stanch,  and  a  good  retriever.  He 
should  work  in  a  restricted  range,  around  the  shooter, 
otherwise,  many  a  bird,  with  its  habit  of  turning  back- 
ward in  its  flight,  will  be  passed.  A  very  fast  dog  is 
to  be  avoided,  but  a  slow,  pottering  one  will  try  the 
patience  of  the  thorough  sportsman  fully  as  much,  and  is 
perhaps  the  greater  evil  of  the  two.  A  dog  that  knows 
his  business  may  go  through  a  cover  with  speed,  until 
his  nose  tells  him  birds  are  near;  then  all  is  changed,  and 
his  caution  is  not  excelled  by  even  the  pottering  dog,  who 
would  be  far  behind,  nosing  about  some  tuft  of  brakes,  or 
jogging  along,  poking  into  each  clump  of  brush  or  bunch 
of  weeds. 

I  hunt  my  setter  with  a  soft-tinkling  bell  attached  to 
the  collar,  and  from  its  tone  judge  of  the  working  of  my 
dog,  whether  slow  or  fast,  near  or  far  away,  and  find  it  of 


THE   WOODCOCK.  59 

great  assistance,  while  it  seems  to  make  no  difference  in 
the  lying  of  the  birds.  Although  there  are  many  dogs 
over  which  good  shooting  may  be  had,  yet  a  first -class 
woodcock  dog  is  rare,  and  invaluable  to  his  owner. 
Many  dogs  do  not  particularly  care  for  the  sport,  but 
prefer  to  hunt  the  grouse  and  the  quail.  I  once  had  an 
English  setter,  of  a  strain  noted  for  its  field-work  in  both 
cover  and  open  shooting,  that  although  a  bold  and  capi- 
tal worker  on  ruffed  grouse,  seemed  to  fear  the  wood- 
cook's  scent,  and  would  stop  hunting,  drop  his  tail,  and 
come  to  heel  the  instant  the  odor  reached  his  nostrils. 

But 'whether  you  use  setter,  pointer,  or  spaniel,  there  is 
a  peculiar  charm  about  woodcock  and  woodcock-shooting 
that  no  one  can  deny  who  is  at  all  acquainted  with  the 
birds,  or  has  ever  tried  the  sport.  You  have  seen  the 
gamy  quail  tumble  into  the  sedge  before  your  aim,  and 
gathered  him  to  your  game-bag,  with  the  knowledge  of 
a  deed  well  done;  you  have  felt  a  glow  of  pride  as  the 
lordly  grouse,  rushing  on  pinions  swift  and  strong,  fell 
before  your  prowess,  and  struggled  in  his  death-battle 
upon  the.autumn  leaves;  but  there  comes  a  feeling  that 
can  not  be  explained  when  you  take  the  woodcock  from 
your  setter's  mouth,  and  watch  the  dark  eyes  close, 
and  that  soft,  velvety  sheen  over  head  and  neck  fade 
away  until  there  is  only  left  the  dull  gloss  of  a  mottled 
plumage,  and  the  bird-life  has  passed  beyond  recall. 

How  the  memories  of  days  passed  amid  the  wood- 
cock's haunts  crowd  in  upon  our  reveries  when  the  land  is 
sriow-boimd  and  the  streams  are  ice-locked!  and  how  we 
long  for  the  time  to  come  when  these  dark-eyed  birds 
shall  once  more  breed  among  the  alder- dells,  and  sing 
their  love-songs  in  the  gloaming  of  warm  spring  evenings! 


THE  QUAILS  OF  CALIFORXIA. 


BY  T.  S.  VAX  DYKE, 

Author  of  "  The  Still  Hunter,''  "The  Rifle,  Rod,  and  Gun  in  California,' 
"Southern  California," etc. 


HERE  is  probably  no  other  game 
bird  that  flourishes  under  so  many 
varied  conditions  as  the  valley 
quail  of  California,  and  wherever 
found,  he  seems  to  get  more  posi- 
tive satisfaction  out  of  existence 

i 

than  any  other  bird.  Though  more  abun- 
dant near  sea-level,  he  is  equally  at  home  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  a  mile  or  more  above  it;  drinks  plenty  of  water 
or  goes  without  it  with  apparently  equal  ease,  and  seems 
quite  as  happy  in  the  glare  of  the  sunlit  plain  as  in  the 
cool  arbors  of  wild  rose,  sycamore,  and  wild  grape  that 
form  dense  shades  along  the  creek  bottom.  Alike  to  him 
are  the  settler's  garden  and  the  lofty  hill-top  miles  away 
from  sight  or  sound  of  man;  and  though  he  can  never  be 
satiated  with  raisin-grapes  or  strawberries,  he  will  keep 
quite  as  fat  and  cheerful  upon  scanty  picking  of  dry 
grass-seed  upon  the  stoniest  hill-side. 

Few  of  our  game  birds  are  so  eternally  busy  as  this 
quail.  He  hardly  ever  rests  except  at  night,  never  looks  sad 
or  bored,  never  sits  around  with  ruffled  feathers  or  droop- 
ing head,  but  wears  always  either  a  decided  business  air 
or  a  sublime  look  of  contentment.  He  lacks  the  modest, 
retiring  ways  that  make  Bob  White  so  hard  to  find,  even 
with  a  good  dog,  but  rather  courts  inspection — comes 

f61) 


62  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

boldly  out  to  look  at  you,  and  seems  generally  anxious 
to  let  you  know  that  he  is  -about.  He  lives  and  moves 
the  whole  year  round  beneath  the  eye  of  everyone  famil- 
iar with  the  land  beyond  the  pavement,  and  there  is  no 
bird  whose  private  life  and  business  methods  are  so  easy 
to  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with. 

The  valley  quail's  peculiar  colors  of  slate-blue,  gray, 
white,  and  cinnamon,  and  the  long,  jaunty  plume  of  jet 
hanging  forward  over  his  bill,  are  now  too  generally 
known  to  need  special  description  here.  In  size  he  is 
a  little  smaller  than  Bob  White,  and  quite  inferior  to  Bob 
in  flavor,  though  still  a  very  good  bird,  except  when  in 
the  hands  of  a  cook  whose  sole  knowledge  of  quail  is  the 
cabalistic  phrase,  "quail  on  toast."  In  such  hands  the 
combination  is  almost  as  good  as  chip  on  pasteboard. 

This  quail  apparently  breeds  but  once  a  year,  and  sel- 
dom raises  a  new  brood  if  the  first  be  destroyed,  as 
young  ones  are  rarely  seen  late  in  the  season,  as  is  often 
the  case  with  Bob  White.  The  number  of  eggs  is  from 
twelve  to  seventeen,  and  though  the  bird  is  smaller,  its 
eggs  are  larger  than  those  of  the  eastern  quail,  and  are 
well  spotted  with  chocolate  blotches.  It  shows  a  remark- 
able instinct  in  not  breeding,  after  winters  of  too  low 
rain-fall,  in  those  sections  where  the  winter  rains  are 
occasionally  too  light  for  a  good  growth  of  vegetation. 
In  such  cases  it  remains  unmated  all  summer,  in  the  large 
flocks  into  which  it  was  banded  in  the  fall,  and  so  con- 
tinues until  the  next  season  of  sufficient  rain. 

Few  birds  have  so  many  different  notes  as  the  valley 
quail,  and  in  few  do  pitch,  tone,  and  accent  vary  so 
much,  even  with  the  same  individual.  The  common  call 
is  a  flute-like,  penetrating  o-7ii-o,  rapidly  repeated  four 
or  five  times,  but  varied  often,  so  that  it  sounds  like 
Jco-loi-o.  Again,  the  accent  is  shifted  until  it  sounds 
like  tuck-a-hoe,  and  sometimes  the  accent  is  so  heavy  on 


THE  QUAILS   OF   CALIFORNIA.  63 

the  second  syllable  that  it  becomes  Tc-woicTi-uh,  and  often 
this  last  uh  is  dropped  entirely,  and  only  a  low  k-woick 
is  heard.  During  hatching-time,  the  male,  perched  upon 
a  bush  near  the  nest,  sends  forth,  at  intervals  of  a 
minute  or  two,  a  low  waTi  full  of  deep  content,  and  often 
during  this  time,  when  on  the  ground  or  moving  about, 
he  gives  a  metallic -toned  wheeooo  or  teeooo,  often 
sounded  several  times  in  quick  succession,  and  sometimes 
in  a  husky  tone.  The  alarm-call  is  a  sharp  wJiit,  whit, 
whit,  changing  often  into  a  low,  muffled  wook,  wook,  wook, 
wook,  while  the  birds  are  on  the  ground,  but  when  they 
rise,  a  sharp,  clear  chirp,  cJiirp,  chirp,  is  the  only  sound 
heard,  and  this  is  generally  from  birds  started  singly. 

This  quail  is  abundant  over  the  greater  part  of  Cali- 
fornia, and  for  several  hundred  miles  below  the  Mexican 
line,  in  those  sections  where  the  rain-fall  is  sufficient. 
Its  numbers  in  many  sections,  before  the  railroads  opened 
the  country  to  the  market-shooter,  were  incredibly  great, 
especially  in  the  County  of  San  Diego,  where  it  so 
abounded  as  to  astonish  even  old  California  shots  from 
other  parts  of  the  State.  The  statement  may  seem 
extravagant,  but  for  many  years  it  was  a  simple  mat- 
ter for  any  good  shot  to  bag  200  in  a  day,  all  at  single 
shots  on  the  wing.  For  several  years  dozens  of  market 
shooters  shipped  an  average  of  10.000  apiece  for  the  sea- 
son. This  hoggish  work,  with  the  number  crippled  and 
finally  killed,  has  greatly  reduced  their  numbers.  But 
seventy -five  or  a  hundred  can  still  be  killed  in  a  few 
hours,  though  it  requires  far  more  tramping  than  for- 
merly to  do  it. 

These  figures  will  be  readily  understood  by  recollect- 
ing that  the  abundance  of  the  birds  is  more  apparent  than 
real.  During  the  shooting-season  they  are  concentrated; 
during  the  months  of  July  and  August  the  bevies  run 
together,  like  those  of  the  pinnated  grouse,  into  flocks  of 


64  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

several  bevies;  and  these  flocks  again  unite,  until  dark 
sheets  of  quail,  sometimes  covering  half  an  acre  or  more 
of  sun-dried  grass  or  stubble,  may  be  seen  around  the 
edges  of  every  valley.  Out  of  cactus-patches,  clumps  of 
sumac,  and  old  piles  of  granite  rock  in  the  smaller  canons, 
they  flutter  and  squeal  by  hundreds,  and  even  thousands; 
and  in  the  spring,  in  the  morning  or  evening,  one  may 
hear  for  several  seconds  a  steady  roar  of  wings,  and  see 
the  air  in  all  directions  filled  with  hundreds  of  blue  lines 
of  wheeling,  twisting,  and  chirping  life.  It  is  to  this 
habit  of  descending  from  the  hills  after  the  breeding  - 
season,  and  thus  congregating  in  the  valleys,  that  the  bird 
owes  its  name  of  "valley  quail." 

Before  the  gun  this  bird  makes  in  some  respects  more 
sport  than  Bob  White,  while  in  other  respects  the  shoot- 
ing is  decidedly  inferior.  For  one  who  knows  how  to 
handle  the  valley  quail,  the  shooting  is  much  less 
fatiguing,  and  much  more  certain  to  yield  a  good  bag, 
than  any  shooting  now  to  be  found  in  the  Eastern  States. 
The  shooting  is  nearly  all  open  or  in  low  brush,  under  the 
clearest  of  skies,  with  great  mountains  looking  down  upon 
one  from  all  directions.  There  are  no  bogs  to  flounder 
through,  no  briars  to  tear  and  swear  one' s  way  through, 
no  very  big  hills  to  climb,  and  no  big  woods  to  get  lost 
in.  Either  in  a  buggy  or  on  horseback,  one  can  ride 
directly  to  the  game,  tie  up,  shoot  awhile,  rest  awhile, 
lunch  and  smoke,  and  shoot  again.  A  large  flock  prop- 
erly handled  gives  two  or  three  men  all  the  shooting 
that  rational  creatures  should  wish;  but  if  one  wants  to 
be  piggish,  another  large  flock  is  easily  found  not  far 
away  from  where  the  first  one  became  too  much  scattered 
for  further  sport. 

But  while  one  can  bum  more  powder  behind  this  bird 
than  behind  Bob  White,  become  far  more  excited,  and, 
when  accustomed  to  it,  can  carry  home  a  much  larger 


THE  QUAILS   OF   CALIFORNIA.  65 

bag,  there  is  a  sad  lack  of  that  charm  that  comes  from 
hunting  a  bird  that  can  rarely  be  seen,  even  on  the  wing, 
without  the  aid  of  a  well-bred  and  well-trained  dog. 
This  quail  never  lies  to  the  dog  as  Bob  White  does  in  the 
Atlantic  States,  and  only  in  the  northern  part  of  Cali- 
fornia does  he  sometimes  lie  as  closely  as  Bob  White 
does  in  the  Western  States.  In  the  south  of  California 
he  rarely  lies  much  better  than  Bob  White  does  in  the 
Western  States  during  those  short  periods  of  migra- 
tion when,  for  two  or  three  weeks  in  early  fall,  two  or 
more  bevies  sometimes  run  together,  run  into  town,  fly 
against  houses,  and  make  fools  of  themselves  generally. 
The  first  dependence  of  the  valley  quail  is  upon  its  legs, 
and  it  rarely  trusts  to  hiding  until  thoroughly  scared  and 
scattered,  when  it  will  often  lie  quite  well.  But  by  this 
time  the  dog,  unless  kept  at  heel  or  tied  up,  is  generally 
demoralized  by  the  running  and  rising  of  innumerable 
birds,  and  feels  more  like  hunting  shade  than  birds.  The 
more  it  is  hunted,  the  more  closely  this  bird  seems  to  lie, 
but  it  is  doubtful  if  any  amount  of  hunting  will  give  it 
the  habit  of  lying  from  the  beginning  as  closely  as  Bob 
White  lies.  Though  a  dog  can,  in  many  places,  and  in 
all  places  where  the  birds  are  scarce,  be  used  to  great 
advantage  by  one  who  thoroughly  understands  these 
birds,  as  well  as  the  proper  working  of  a  dog,  no  such 
fine  exhibition  of  dog  intelligence  is  to  be  seen  as  is  an 
every-day  occurrence  in  hunting  Bob  White.  There  are 
those  who  think  otherwise,  but  it  only  proves  to  me  that 
they  have  never  seen  handsome  work  by  good  dogs  on 
close-lying  birds. 

Though  large  quantities  of  these  quail  may,  in  sum- 
mer and  early  fall,  be  killed  upon  the  ground  by  the 
merest  tyro,  especially  if  shooting  from  a  wagon,  it  be- 
comes quite  a  different  matter  later  in  the  fall,  when  they 
are  full-grown  and  strong,  and  especially  where  they  are 

5 


66  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

much  hunted.  Probably  no  bird  on  earth  so  baffles  the 
tyro.  He  hears  the  wook,  wook,  wook,  and  sees  occasional 
dark-blue  streaks  through  open  places  ahead  of  him,  gone 
before  he  can  raise  his  gun.  Trying  all  the  time  to  get  a 
shot  at  a  bunch  on  the  ground,  he  thinks  if  he  only  goes 
carefully,  and  looks  keenly  enough,  he  will  get  a  fine 
"pot-shot."  Meanwhile,  the  birds  trot  along  ahead  of 
him  through  the  brush,  keeping  up  their  whit,  whit, 
whit,  and  wook,  wook,  wook,  just  a  yard  or  two  beyond 
good  shooting  distance,  but  with  such  a  tempting  tame- 
ness  as  to  delude  him  constantly  with  the  idea  that  a 
little  more  caution,  and  a  little  more  keenness  of  eye,  will 
secure  a  fine  shot  at  a  bunch.  In  this  way  they  lead  him 
up  one  hill,  down  the  next  slope,  and  up  the  next,  nearly 
always  a  little  too  far,  yet  always  equally  tempting. 
Perhaps  he  gets  a  shot  at  thirty  or  thirty-five  yards  into 
a  large  bunch  in  some  opening,  and  pours  his  second 
barrel  in  all  confidence  into  the  roaring  black  sheet  that 
rises  at  the  report  of  his  first  barrel.  No  more  stunning 
surprise  awaits  mortal  man  than  when,  after  two  such 
shots,  the  tyro  advances  hopefully  through  the  smoke  to 
bag  his  game.  He  sees,  perhaps,  a  wing-broken  bird  or 
two  scud  darkly  away  through  the  brush  almost  as  fast  as 
it  once  could  fly,  finds  a  few  feathers,  and  hears  a  bird 
fluttering  in  its  death-struggles  a  dozen  yards  or  more 
down  the  hill-side  among  the  brush.  But  more  often  he 
finds  nothing  but  a  few  feathers,  and  by  the  time  he  gives 
up  the  search  for  a  dead  bird,  the  flock  is  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  away  on  another  hill-side,  already  col- 
lected together,  and  ready  to  repeat  the  same  games. 

But  still  more  amusing  is  often  the  work  of  the  experi- 
enced shot  from  the  East,  who  comes  with  a  good  dog,  a 
quick  eye,  and  ready  finger — a  skillful  shot,  perhaps,  both 
in  cover  and  in  the  open.  Most  of  the  Calif  ornians  claim 
that  their  valley  quail  is  a  harder  bird  to  shoot  than  Bob 


THE   QUAILS   OF   CALIFOKXIA.  67 

AVhite.  Beyond  question  it  is  a  far  harder  bird  to  kill, 
but  taken  under  the  same  circumstances,  and  especially 
at  the  same  distance  of  rising,  it  certainly  is  not  a  harder 
bird  to  hit.  It  flies  no  faster  and  twists  no  more  than 
Bob  AVhite  does.  Nevertheless,  it  is  true  that  it  bothers 
the  best  shots  very  much  at  first.  Capt.  Ira  Paine,  on  his 
first  introduction  to  this  bird,  some  three  years  ago,  a  few 
miles  back  of  San  Diego,  missed  his  first  nine  birds  in 
succession — all  single  birds,  all  within  easy  range,  and  all 
missed  clean — before  he  settled  down  to  steady  shooting. 
Captain  Paine  told  me  of  this  the  same  day,  and  two 
friends  of  mine  saw  the  whole  performance.  I  have 
known  many  instances,  almost  as  remarkable,  where  the 
missing  lasted  the  whole  day;  and  it  has  taken  some  good 
shots  two  or  three  days  to  get  to  shooting  well.  This 
seems  to  be  due  to  the  great  numbers  of  the  birds,  rising 
all  around  one  at  different  times  and  distances,  all  buz- 
zing and  chirping  and  j  umping  from  unexpected  places, 
which,  combined  with  the  peculiar  color  of  the  birds,  and 
the  strange  background  of  the  picture,  is  quite  certain 
to  demoralize  the  oldest  shot  from  the  East. 

One  recovers  rapidly  from  this,  and  in  a  few  days  can 
make  as  clean  a  score  as  upon  Bob  White — provided, 
however,  that  he  has  in  the  meantime  learned  how  to  hunt 
the  bird;  for  if  left  to  work  out  his  own  knowledge, 
plenty  of  vexation  is  yet  in  store  for  him.  Perhaps  at 
the  first  rising  of  the  flock  he  brings  down  a  bird  with 
each  barrel.  He  walks  confidently  to  the  place  where  the 
first  one  fell.  A  moment  ago  he  believed  he  could  put 
his  finger  upon  the  precise  spot  where  it  fell.  He  is  now 
prepared  to  swear  that  no  mortal,  either  native  or  foreign, 
can  tell  one  bush  from  another.  He  discovers  a  few 
feathers  on  a  bush,  under  which  he  looks  instead  of  look- 
ing several  yards  ahead  and  in  line  with  the  place  where 
the  bird  rose.  He  quickly  concludes  it  will  be  easier  to 


68  UPLAXD    SHOOTING. 

find  the  second  one,  but  when  he  tries  to  find  where  that 
fell,  he  is  even  more  exasperated  than  before  at  the 
bewildering  sameness  of  all  the  shrubbery.  He  declares 
there  is  no  use  in  hunting  these  quail  without  a  dog,  for- 
getting that  the  heaviest  bags  ever  made  are  made  on 
precisely  such  ground  without  any  dog — an  experienced 
hand  retrieving  almost  every  bird  as  quickly,  almost,  as  it 
was  shot,  and  all  birds  being  shot  singly  and  on  the  wing; 
forgetting,  also,  that  if  he  had  a  dog  he  would  soon  have 
his  nose  nearly  worthless  by  letting  him  run  too  long  in 
dry  air  and  hot  sun  without  water  instead  of  keeping  him 
at  heel  until  really  needed. 

He  loses  just  time  enough  in  looking  for  these  birds  to 
let  the  scattered  flock  run  together  again  some  300 
yards  away,  wThere  they  are  making  the  hill-side  ring 
with  their  clear  call,  and  can  perhaps  be  seen  darting  here 
and  there  through  openings'  in  the  brush.  Until  this 
flock  is  broken  and  scattered,  he  will  have  no  shooting 
worthy  of  the  name,  but  only  boundless  vexation;  and 
he  has  lost  just  time  enough  to  have  to  begin  all  over 
again.  Just  before  he  gets  within  shooting  distance  of  the 
flock  again,  a  bird  starts  from  a  bush  almost  at  his  feet, 
runs  a  few  yards  along  the  ground,  almost  as  swiftly  as  if 
on  the  wing,  then  bursts  into  flight,  with  a  clear  chirp, 
chirp,  chirp,  and  goes  wheeling  off  toward  a  ravine  on  the 
left.  The  temptation  is  irresistible.  Bang!  goes  the  gun, 
and  the  bird  whirls  downward  out  of  a  cloud  of  feathers, 
and,  with  a  tremendous  roar,  over  1,000  birds  rise 
from  the  slope  beyond.  Running  to  the  place  where  the 
bird  fell,  our  friend  finds  a  few  feathers  on  the  edge  of 
the  ravine,  but  looks  in  vain  for  the  bird.  Suddenly  there 
is  a  violent  fluttering  near  the  bottom  of  the  ravine;  he 
runs  down,  and  finds  it  bouncing  and  gyrating  in  its  death- 
struggles,  eluding  all  his  efforts  to  seize  it  until  it  is  a 
dozen  feet  or  more  farther  down  the  hill.  By  the  time 


THE   QUAILS    OF   CALIFORNIA.  69 

lie  has  scrambled  out  of  the  ravine,  and  got  to  where  he 
can  hear  or  see  the  main  flock  again,  they  are  some 
300  yards  or  more  farther  away,  all  together  again, 
and  all  prepared  to  lead  him  another  weary  chase.  And 
so  he  may  go  on  until,  heated,  breathless,  and  thoroughly 
mad,  he  quits  the  field  with  six  or  eight  birds,  declaring 
that  of  all  sublunary  abominations  California  quail-shoot- 
ing takes  the  lead. 

This  is  a  very  hasty  judgment,  however,  for  nothing  in 
the  line  of  shooting  will  exceed  the  certainty  with  which 
that  same  man,  after  a  few  weeks'  practice,  will  bag  from 
150  to  200  birds  with  little  more  work  than  his  first  half 
a  dozen  cost  him.  And  the  regularity  and  quickness  of 
his  shooting  will  scarcely  equal  the  certainty  and  quick- 
ness with  which  he  will  pick  up  dead  birds,  remembering, 
unconsciously,  their  course,  speed,  direction  of  wind,  etc., 
and  going  at  once  to  where  they  fell,  guided  only,  perhaps, 
by  a  single  feather  on  a  bush  to  a  bird  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  away. 

The  first,  and  in  fact  the  only  important,  step  to  easy 
success  is  not  to  attempt  to  bag  anything  at  first,  but 
spend  all  your  time  in  breaking  and  scattering  the  flock. 
This  can  be  done  only  by  rapid  and  repeated  flushing, 
without  giving  them  time  to  get  together  again.  Firing 
over  them,  and  especially  in  front  of  them,  materially  aids 
this  scattering.  For  this  reason,  two  persons  can  always 
do  better  together  than  alone,  and  by  working  around  on 
the  outside  can  keep  the  birds  more  or  less  rounded-up 
toward  a  common  center.  The  more  rapidly  you  run 
upon  the  flock,  and  the  more  noise  you  make,  the  more  apt 
you  are  to  break  the  flock  at  the  first  charge;  and  if  two 
or  more  persons  are  ahead  of  them,  and  fire  their  guns  off, 
the  greater  the  probability  of  this  result.  Wherever  the 
flock  alights  the  first  time,  lose  no  time  in  getting  there. 
At  each  charge  you  make  upon  them,  they  will  scatter 


70  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

wider  and  wider  when  they  alight.  If  quickly  handled, 
you  will  have  them  scattered  over  fifteen  or  twenty  acres 
at  the  second  or  third  flushing,  which  should  not  take 
more  than  fifteen  minutes  in  all;  but  even  now  turn  your 
attention  first  to  any  considerable  number  that  may  have 
kept  close  together,  and  break  and  scatter  every  bunch  as 
fast  as  possible.  You  may  now  have  1,000  or  1,500  quail 
fairly  scattered  over  twenty  or  thirty  acres  of  good 
cover,  and  in  a  state  of  such  alarm  that  they  will  trust 
more  to  hiding  than  to  their  legs.  Quite  a  number  will 
still  run  away  on  the  sides,  and  at  every  report  of  the  gun 
some  will  rise  and  make  off;  but  these  latter  will  not  fly  far, 
and  will  generally  lie  all  the  better  wrhen  they  alight.  If 
you  are  wise,  you  will  now  tie  your  dog  to  a  shady  bush,  lay 
aside  your  heavy  coat  and  all  else  that  is  unnecessary,  for 
unless  you  travel  fast  and  work  rapidly,  too  many  of  the 
birds  will  yet  steal  away  from  you. 

Before  you  have  advanced  many  steps,  there  is  a  sud- 
den rustling  in  a  bush  of  white  sage,  which  the  wild  pea 
has  festooned  with  a  wealth  of  brilliant  pink;  a  little  dark- 
blue  object  whips  out  of  the  other  side,  and  rises  Avith  a 
sharp  cliirp,  chirp,  chirp,  and  loud  buzzing  wings.  A 
puff  of  feathers  rides  the  air  behind  it  at  the  report  of 
your  gun ;  but  away  it  goes.  You  have  no  time,  however, 
to  watch  it;  for  there  is  a  whiz  to  the  right,  a  buzz  on 
the  left,  a  chirp,  chirp,  chirp,  behind,  a  rustling  of  swift 
little  legs  in  a  bush  in  front,  and  a  dozen  birds  have 
broken  cover  all  around  you  at  the  sound  of  your  gun. 
Bang!  goes  your  second  barrel  at  one,  whose  rapid  wings 
make  a  dark  haze  around  it  as  they  fan  the  warm  sun- 
light. Another  puff  of  white  and  blue  feathers,  with  a 
shade  or  two  of  cinnamon-color,  comes  back  upon  the  air, 
yet  the  bird  goes  gaily  on,  and  with  stiff -set  wings  sails 
downward  over  a  ridge  as  easily  as  if  the  shot  had  only 
ballasted  it  for  a  swifter  and  steadier  flight. 


THE  QUAILS   OF   CALIFORNIA.  71 

You  have  now  come  upon  another  difficulty  which 
the  Eastern  shot  little  suspects,  and  which  is  quite  sure 
to  mar  at  least  one  day's  happiness.  These  are  the 
toughest  birds  alive,  and  need  an  immense  amount  of 
killing.  They  need,  too,  very  dead  killing,  or  half  the 
time  you  will  find  nothing  but  feathers  where  they  have 
fallen.  Cartridges  loaded  for  Bob  AVhite  will  not  do. 
For  old,  full-grown  birds  here,  you  need  the  finest  shot, 
up  to  No.  10,  that  the  gun  will  shoot  to  best  advantage, 
with  about  as  much  powder  as  you  would  use  for  ducks. 
Even  then,  thirty-five  yards  will  be  a  long  shot,  and  if 
you  kill  everything  clean  at  thirty  that  you  hold  on 
closely,  you  have  an  extra-good  gun. 

Finding  yourself  out  with  weak  cartridges,  your  only 
remedy  is  to  take  no  long  shots.  You  will  have  plenty 
at  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty  yards  if  you  will  possess  your 
soul  in  patience.  See,  now,  as  you  advance,  how  from 
this  green  sumac  on  the  right,  overhung  with  the  snowy 
drapery  of  the  wild  cucumber,  from  this  wild  alfalfa, 
brilliant  with  scarlet  and  gold,  upon  your  left,  and  from 
among  the  crimson  trumpets  of  this  mimulus  almost  at 
your  feet,  rise  another,  another,  and  another.  Depend 
upon  it,  you  will  get  enough  close  shots. 

Scarcely  a  dozen  more  steps  do  you  take  forward, 
when  another  quail  bursts,  whizzing  and  chirping,  from 
the  orange-glow  of  a  bunch  of  poppies,  and  as  you  raise 
your  gun  upon  it,  another  breaks,  just  beyond  it,  from 
some  chemisal  over  which  the  dodder  is  fast  weaving  its 
orange-colored  floss.  Before  your  gun  is  in  line  with  the 
first  bird,  half  a  dozen  more  are  buzzing,  curling,  and 
chirping  upward  out  of  the  wild  buckwheat  just  at  your 
feet,  over  which  the  morning-glory  is  all  in  bloom; 
another  half-dozen  join  them  at  the  report  of  your  first 
barrel,  and  the  sound  of  your  second  barrel  rouses  as 
many  more  from  the  spangled  covert  around  you. 


72  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

What  wonder  that  in  all  this  confusion  yon  have 
failed  to  mark  the  spot  where  the  first  bird  went  whirling 
down  upon  the  right,  and  the  other  fluttering  to  earth 
upon  the  left!  Where  you  think  the  first  one  fell,  you 
find  only  a  bewildering  wealth  of  violets,  blue-bells,  pop- 
pies, and  shooting-stars  among  the  brush.  Going  to 
where  you  think  you  saw  the  other  fall,  you  find  only 
spangled  confusion  worse  confounded — the  green  and 
pink  of  the  alfileria,  the  scarlet  of  the  cardinal  flower, 
the  blue  of  the  phacelia,  the  gold  of  the  primrose,  with 
a  feather  or  two  upon  the  red  bracts  of  the  painted-cup. 
You  w^ill  get  the  dog,  you  think;  but  remember  that, 
although  tlds  is  mid-winter,  the  air  is  still  very  dry, 
the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  are  quite  hot,  and  without  a 
frequent  supply  of  water  your  dog' s  scent  will  soon  lose 
that  keenness  that  it  will  need  a  little  later  in  the  day. 
Better  learn  to  retrieve  your  own  birds,  and  keep  your 
dog  fresh.  For  the  present,  take  no  double  shots.  Keep 
your  eye  on  the  place  where  every  bird  falls,  and  go 
directly  to  it  without  taking  another  shot.  With  experi- 
ence, you  may  play  with  these  birds  as  you  like,  but  not 
now.  Now,  you  might  drop  a  dozen  around  you  in  all 
directions,  and  neither  you  nor  the  dog  could  find  half  of 
them  without  taking  time  that  you  can  use  to  much 
better  advantage. 

You  may  now  go  on  for  200  or  300  yards,  then 
turn  and  come  back  a  few  yards  on  one  side,  then  cross 
your  first  path,  and  go  forward  again  on  the  left  of  it; 
and  all  the  while,  singly  and  in  pairs,  and  in  bunches 
of  four  or  five  to  a  dozen,  birds  are  rising  around  you, 
some  whizzing  straight  away,  some  circling  around 
behind,  some  crossing  in  front,  some  wheeling  overhead. 
Some  burst  at  once  into  flight;  others,  before  rising,  scud 
a  few  yards  along  the  ground,  making  quite  as  hard  a 
mark  to  hit  as  when  on  the  wing.  Some  spring  almost 


THE   QUAILS   OF   CALIFORNIA.  73 

from  beneath  your  feet,  others  rise  at  thirty,  forty,  fifty, 
seventy,  and  even  100  yards  and  over.  Very  few  fly  over 
300  yards  before  alighting  again. 

Nowhere  else,  outside  of  a  good  duck -pass  during 
"the  evening  flight, "  shall  you  find  such  brain-befuddling 
intensity  of  shooting  as  on  ground  like  this.  When  you 
have  handled  your  birds  right,  the  gun  flames  almost  as 
fast  as  you  can  load  it,  and  birds  you  can  not  hope  to 
shoot  at  are  whizzing  and  chirping  on  every  hand  at 
every  step  forward.  Through  the  smoke  you  see  dark 
lines  darting  and  wheeling,  and  a  constant  chirp,  chirp, 
chirp,  plays  the  interlude  between  its  quickest  thunders. 
You  are  lost  in  the  confusion  and  the  strange  nature  of 
the  background;  the  earth  ablaze  with  flowers  that  would 
adorn  any  garden,  yet  all  strangers  to  your  eye;  a  sky 
above  you  that  you  have  rarely  seen  elsewhere;  the  soft 
air  filled  with  notes  of  a  score  of  other  birds  whose  music 
is  all  new  to  your  ear;  the  distant  slopes  rolling  away  in 
long  undulations  of  green,  and  gold,  and  blue,  until  they 
break  into  the  chaparral  of  the  hills,  the  higher  hills 
looking  solemnly  blue  with  distance,  and  above  all,  great 
snow-clad  peaks  looking  down  upon  the  whole. 

You  may  thus  traverse  this  piece  of  ground  to  and 
fro  several  times,  but  after  the  first  and  second  beating 
the  shooting  will  rapidly  decline.  You  may  still  have 
fair  shooting  for  two  or  three  hours  more,  but  when  the 
shooting  falls  oif  to  anything  less  than  a  good  shot  every 
two  minutes,  you  may  let  loose  your  dog.  You  will  now 
be  surprised  at  the  number  of  birds  still  lying  on  the 
ground  you  have  just  walked  over  several  times.  Many 
of  them  lie  about  as  well  as  Bob  White,  and  for 
hours  to  come  you  may  have  plenty  of  shooting 
upon  this  same  ground  But  though  no  one  loves  hunt- 
ing with  a  good  dog  more  than  I  do,  I  prefer  the  uproar 
and  racket  of  a  new  flock,  which,  up  to  the  last  three 


74  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

years,  used  to  be  quite  as  easy  to  find  as  it  is  to  keep 
your  dog  in  order  to  hunt  on  one  sufficiently  scattered  to 
lie  closely. 

When  we  leave  the  lowlands  of  California,  and  begin 
to  climb  the  highlands,  where  the  rain-fall  is  much  heavier 
and  timber  and  running  brooks  in  summer  more  abundant, 
and  clear  springs  begin  to  break  from  every  hill-side,  we 
meet  another  variety  of  quail,  although  we  have  by  no 
means  lost  sight  of  our  old  friend  the  valley  quail.  This 
new  quail  is  called  the  mountain  quail  in  California.  It 
is  said  to  be  the  common  quail  of  Oregon,  and  to  be  found 
there  near  sea-level.  But  in  California,  though  occa- 
sionally found  within  1,500 /feet  or  so  of  sea-level,  its 
favorite  home  is  a  mile  or  more  above  that,  and  it  is 
often  most  abundant  at  an  altitude  where  the  valley  quail 
has  entirely  disappeared.  It  is  apparently  a  larger  bird 
than  Bob  White,  being  fuller  feathered,  but  in  fact  only  a 
trifle  larger,  if  any.  It  is  plump  and  full-breasted,  and  as 
graceful  and  artless  in  every  motion  as  Bob  himself.  Its 
breast  is  a  slate-blue,  with  a  low-cut  vest  of  bright  cinna- 
mon mottled  with  white.  Farther  back  along  the  sides 
are  four  bands  of  white;  the  back  is  a  brownish  gray,  with 
tail  bluish  above  and  cinnamon-tinged  beneath.  Around 
a  full,  swelling  throat  is  a  white  collar,  with  a  cinnamon- 
colored  necktie.  The  head  is  slate-blue,  small,  and  cun- 
ningly set  with  a  grayish -brown  top-knot,  from  the  top  of 
which  rise  two  long,  slender  plumes  of  jet  black. 

In  character,  the  mountain  bird  differs  radically  from 
the  valley  quail.  The  valley  bird  is  a  perfect  hoodlum, 
roistering,  bold,  saucy,  and  defiant.  He  ravages  vine- 
yards almost  beneath  the  owner's  nose,  yet  his  clear  ichit, 
whit,  wJiit,  of  alarm  indicates  an  abiding  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  take  care  of  himself.  He  knows  quite  well  the 
range  of  a  gun,  and  though  he  makes  an  occasional  mis- 
take by  basing  his  calculations  upon  cheap  powder  and 


THE   QUAILS   OF   CALIFOKXIA.  75 

pot-metal,  he  generally  lias  the  laugh  on  the  countryman, 
and  is  again  gorging  his  fine  raisin-grapes  before  he  has 
got  fairly  into  the  house. 

But  the  mountain  quail  is  all  gentility  and  politeness. 
He  lingers  around  in  your  presence  as  if  he  would  like  to 
trust  you,  as  if  his  better  judgment  inclined  him  to  be 
your  friend,  if  only  his  foolish  little  legs  could  be  per- 
suaded it  were  safe.  But  the  legs  are  the  better  logician, 
and  a  decided  tendency  to  disappear  underlies  all  his 
most  trustful  movements.  In  many  parts  of  the  State 
this  quail  is  much  wilder  than  in  others,  and  is  so  even 
when  little  shot  at;  but  in  the  mountains  of  the  south 
they  are  the  most  artless  little  innocents  imaginable. 
Yet,  when  once  they  find  their  confidence  in  you  misplaced, 
their  little  feet  bear  them  away  with  a  marvelous  speed; 
and  when  they  find  their  legs  too  slow,  they  can  unfold 
as  swift  a  pair  of  wings  as  any  quail,  and  dart  with  ease 
through  the  heaviest  chaparral.  Quick  must  be  the  eye 
and  the  aim  to  catch  one  before  it  wheels  behind  the 
dense  arms  of  the  manzanita,  which  will  stop  fully  half 
the  shot,  and  quicker  still  the  eye  and  hand  that  can 
scatter  on  the  air  feathers  of  blue  and  cinnamon  and 
white  before  the  owner  crosses  the  opening  between  two 
dense  thickets  of  lilac.  Often  must  the  shot  mow  down 
the  dense  green  of  the  brush  live-oak,  and  often  on  the 
steep  hill-side  must  one  drop  on  one  knee  to  catch  a  sight 
on  the  swift-scudding  mark  before  it  fades  among  the 
leaves  above. 

The  calling-note  of  this  bird  is  a  mellow  cloi,  cloi,  cloi, 
or  woi,  wo  I,  wo /,  penetrating  and  far-reaching  as  the  note 
of  the  upland  plover.  Its  note  of  alarm  is  a  ch,  cTi,  ch, 
ch,  cJieeaJi,  sounding  sometimes  harder,  like  quit,  quit, 
quit,  quit,  queeaTi,  most  dolorous  and  distressing  in  tone 
when  the  mother  has  her  little  brood  with  her.  It  lays 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  eggs  of  pure  white,  in  a  nest  along 


76  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

the  mountain-side  quite  difficult  to  find.  The  chicks  are 
little  gray  scraps  of  energy,  that  can  eclipse  even  Bob 
White  in  getting  away  with  half  the  shell  still  clinging. 

The  mountain  quail  does  not  unite  in  large  flocks  as  the 
valley  quail  does,  nor  does  it  descend  into  the  valley  of 
the  mountains  any  more  after  reaching  full  growth  than 
before.  It  remains  always  until  next  mating-time  in  the 
levees  in  which  it  was  hatched.  It  is  more  apt  to  fly  into 
trees  when  flushed  than  the  valley  bird,  and,  like  it,  will 
not  lie  well  to  a  dog.  Like  the  valley  quail,  it  must  be 
thoroughly  scared  and  scattered  and  the  bevy  broken  up. 
Then,  if  the  cover  be  good,  it  will  often  lie  quite  well,  but 
the  covey  will  quickly  unite  if  not  hotly  pursued,  and 
once  together  again  the  birds  will  quickly  run,  and  almost 
always  up-hill  and  into  the  roughest  ground  and  densest 
cover. 

Both  the  valley  and  mountain  quail  are  easily  tamed, 
and  live  well  in  a  cage.  I  have  known  the  mountain 
quail  run  at  large  every  day  with  the  chickens  and  return 
to  its  coop  at  night.  The  valley  bird  does  not  well 
endure  very  deep  snows  or  very  cold  weather,  but  it 
would  seem  that  the  mountain  quail  could  be  easily  raised 
on  the  Atlantic  Coast.  It  loves  the  higher  slopes  of  the 
great  inland  hills,  where  it  becomes  very  cold  in  winter 
and  the  snow  is  very  deep.  Far  away  upward  it  climbs, 
and  lives  and  loves  where  the  snow-banks  linger  through 
mid-summer,  where  the  cedar  and  fir  are  dwarfed  and 
distorted.  Even  far  above  where  the  blue  jay  squalls,  and 
where  the  condor  rarely  wheels,  where  no  hawk,  wild- 
cat, coyote,  or  fox  worries  the  fond  mother,  away  up 
where  nearly  all  other  birds  have  disappeared,  this  charm- 
ing bird  seems  still  at  home. 

Both  of  these  quails  will  survive  long  years  after  the 
market's  royal  demands  and  the  piggishness  of  the  "big 
bag"  hunter  have  made  Bob  White  a  curiosity.  There 


THE   QUAILS    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


77 


is  here  too  much  breeding-ground  which  can  never  be 
broken  up,  too  much  cattle-range  upon  which  the  market- 
shooter  will  not  be  allowed,  to  permit  of  their  extermi- 
nation. Much  of  their  home  will  long  lie  unravaged  by 
the  hoof  of  the  great  white  spoiler  of  all  that  is  fair  in 
Nature,  and  our  children' s  children  shall  hear  their  cheery 
call  upon  a  thousand  hill-sides  when  the  valleys  and 
plains  below  are  almost  a  solid  mass  of  gardens  and 
orchards  of  the  rarest  and  most  valuable  fruits  that  can 
be  grown  in  America. 


THE    RUFFED    GROUSE 

( Bonasa   umbellm.) 


BY  C.  A.  COOPER  ("  SIBYLLIXE  "). 


ADULT   MALE. 

YES,  brown;  superciliary  membrane  (con- 
cealed), orange-color  in  the  spring,  faint  at 
other  times.  Bill,  horn-color,  darkest  above 
and  at  tip;  short,  with  upper  part  curved 
over  lower.  Head,  capped  by  a  brownish- 
gray  crest;  short  feathers  above  the  eye. 
Throat,  brownish-yellow.  Front  of  lower 
neck  and  breast,  lighter,  crossed  with  dusky  bars; 
brownish-yellow  beneath  the  surface.  Abdomen, 
creamy-gray.  Flanks,  mottled  with  dark-brown 
and  white,  or  irregularly  barred  with  black.  Back, 
and  top  of  neck,  reddish-brown,  finely  speckled  with 
dusky,  each  feather  being  marked  by  a  large  heart  shaped 
spot  of  reddish-brown  or  gray.  Sides  of  lower  neck 
with  bare  space,  concealed  by  tufts  of  long,  broad,  black 
feathers  called  ruffs.  Ruffs  occasionally  brownish -black, 
each  feather  being  squarely  cut  at  its  end,  and  terminally 
bordered  with  a  metallic  lustre  of  blue  or  green;  erected 
at  will.  Tail,  moderately  rounded;  erected  or  spread  at 
will;  light  reddish-brown  above,  sometimes  gray;  crossed 
with  narrow  bars  of  dusky  or  black,  and  with  one  broad 
bar  of  black  near  its  end;  tip,  gray,  and  slightly  convex; 
consists  of  eighteen  broad  feathers;  measures  from  six  to 

(79) 


80  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

seven  inches.  Upper  legs  only  feathered;  naked  behind. 
Lower  legs  with  two  rows  of  hexagonal  scales  behind. 
Weight,  21  to  26  ounces;  length,  17f  to  20  inches;  stretch 
of  wings,  22|  to  25.  Habitat,  east  of  Rocky  Mountains. 

ADULT  FEMALE. 

Similar  to  male,  but  smaller.  Ruff  lacks  metallic 
lustre,  and  varies  in  color  from  liver-color  to  dead  black. 
Lacks  the  trace  of  orange  above  the  eye.  Length,  15£  to 
17f  inches;  stretch  of  wings,  20-|  to  2()|;  weight,  18  to 
22  ounces.  VARIETY  UMBELLOIDES. 

Marked  similar  to  umbellus,  but  general  color  bluish- 
ash;  tail,  pale  ash.  Found  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
South  Central  British  America. 

VARIETY   SABINI. 

Similar  to  urribellus,  but  much  darker  generally. 
Grayish  specimens  occur  occasionally  at  high  altitudes. 
Found  in  Oregon,  Washington,  and  British  Columbia. 

Although  a  description  of  the  ruffed  grouse  may  seem 
to  many  unnecessary,  in  view  of  the  scarcity  of  birds  in 
certain  populous  districts,  and  the  increasing  interest 
taken  in  natural  history  by  the  young  men  of  the  day, 
the  writer  has  thought  best  to  follow  the  mode  of  prede- 
cessors, avoiding,  however,  the  use  of  scientific  terms. 

As  the  sexes  are  so  nearly  alike,  only  the  male  bird 
has  been  minutely  described,  but  a  little  space  further  on 
will  be  devoted  to  pointing  out  the  few  external  differ- 
ences, in  order  that  sportsmen,  with  opportunities  for 
observing  the  habits  of  this  beautiful  bird,  may  assist  in 
clearing  away  the  mists  which  envelop  and  leave  in 
doubt  some  of  its  characteristics. 

With  the  exception  of  the  forests  bordering  on  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  this  species  may  be  found  in  consider- 
able numbers  in  nearly  all  the  wooded  sections  of  the 
United  States  and  Southern  British  America. 


THE   RUFFED    GROUSE. 


81 


Although  it  should  be  universally  known  as  the 
ruffed  grouse,  it  is  called,  in  different  localities,  part- 
ridge, pheasant,  drumming-grouse,  tippet-grouse,  birch- 
partridge,  white-flesher,  etc. 


\ 


RUFFED  GROUSE. 

Specimens  from  each  of  the  three  varieties,  umbellus, 
umbelloides,  and  sabini,  are  occasionally  found  with  part 
of  the  plumage  shading  into  one  or  both  of  the  other 
varieties.  As  a  rule,  however,  we  find  the  lighter-plum- 
aged  birds  at  high  altitudes,  and  in  cold  countries, 
though  exceptions  are  numerous.  The  winter  coat  is  also 
slightly  lighter  in  color  than  that  of  summer,  and  it  has 


82  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

been  noticed  that  birds,  when  transferred  from  cold  to 
warm  countries,  have  become  darker  after  moulting. 

Chapters  have  been  written  upon  this  variation  in 
plumage,  but  Baird,  Brewer,  and  Ridgway,  in  "  North 
American  Land  Birds,"  tell  the  story  in  so  few  words 
that  I  take  the  liberty  of  quoting  the  following:  "These 
three  varieties,  when  based  on  specimens  from  the  regions 
where  their  characters  are  most  exaggerated  and  uni- 
form, appear  sufficiently  distinct;  but  when  we  find  that 
specimens  from  the  New  England  States  have  the  rufous 
bodies,  of  umbellus,  and  that  examples  from  Eastern 
Oregon  and  Washington  have  the  dark,  rusty  bodies  of 
sabini  and  gray  tails  of  umbelloides,  and  continue  to 
see  that  the  transition  between  any  two  of  the  three 
forms  is  gradual  with  locality,  we  are  unavoidably  led  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  are  merely  geographical  modifi- 
cations of  one  species." 

To  show  to  what  extent  this  individual  variation,  or 
whatever  we  choose  to  call  it,  is  often  carried,  I  quote 
from  the  private  letter  of  a  gentleman  well  known  to 
American  sportsmen: 

"Many  years  ago  I  killed  a  ruffed  grouse  near 
Albany,  N.  Y.,  which  had  one  side  of  its  tail  all  black— 
a  case  of  partial  melanism ;  and  in  November  or  Decem- 
ber, 1856,  I  saw  a  flock  of  the  same  birds  near  Fort  Rip- 
le\T,  Minn.,  one  of  which  was  entirely  black.  The  flock, 
of  perhaps  thirty,  passed  writhin  a  few  feet  of  me  while 
I  was  watching  a  deer  from  behind  a  log,  and,  as  they 
were  not  alarmed,  I  noted  the  bird  carefully.  .  .  . 
One  of  my  female  wood-ducks  has  an  extra-wide  white 
stripe  at  the  base  of  the  bill,  one  has  almost  none;  one 
more  white  under  the  throat,  etc. ' ' 

Nearly  grown  birds  are  thought  by  some  authors  to 
be  darker  than  old  ones,  but  the  difference  is  frequently 
so  slight  that  persons  comparing  the  two  disagree. 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE.  83 

Soon  after  the  disappearance  of  the  snow,  in  the 
spring,  the  female  responds  to  the  love-call  of  the  male. 
In  the  United  States  this  mating  usually  takes  place 
early  in  April,  and  precedes  the  laying  of  the  first  egg  two 
or  three  weeks.  A  single  meeting  of  the  pair,  at  this 
time,  insures  a  fertile  laying. 

The  nest  is  composed  of  a  few  leaves  placed  in  a  slight 
depression  on  the  ground,  usually  under  a  log,  but  often 
under  low  bushes,  low,  spreading  evergreens,  or  in  weeds. 
It  is  as  frequently  found  along  the  edges  of  sunny  open- 
ings as  in  dense  cover,  but  is  always  located  within  half 
a  mile  of  the  male' s  headquarters. 

For  her  second  laying,  when  the  first  has  been 
destroyed,  the  female  sometimes  takes  possession  of 
abandoned  nests,  in  trees  or  on  the  tops  of  stubs,  remov- 
ing her  young  to  the  ground  in  her  bill.  This  is  of  rare 
occurrence. 

The  eggs  of  each  laying  vary  in  number  from  seven 
to  fifteen;  they  also  vary  in  color,  being  usually  a  clear 
cream  or  buff,  but  sometimes  dotted  or  splashed  with 
brown.  They  are  ovoidal  in  form,  and  measure  1.65  by 
1.20  inches,  although  specimens  have  been  taken  consid- 
erably larger  as  well  as  smaller. 

But  one  brood  is  raised  each  year;  but  should  the  first 
laying  be  destroyed,  a  second  (or  even  a  third)  is  pro- 
duced, the  male  being  revisited  each  time. 

When  on  her  eggs  the  hen  often  permits  a  very  close 
approach.  I  have  seen  them  captured  by  the  h|ind,  and 
one  by  placing  a  hat  over  her.  Such  cases  are  rare,  how- 
ever, as  she  usually  sneaks  away  from  her  nest  upon  the 
approach  of  man.  The  fact  that  she  covers  her  eggs  with 
leaves,  when  leaving  them  to  look  for  food,  leads  me  to 
believe  that  she  hides  from  the  cock  during  the  hatching 
period,  much  after  the  manner  of  the  hen  turkey,  and  for 
the  same  reason. 


84  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

During  incubation,  which  lasts  twenty-one  days,  and 
until  the  chicks  are  half -grown,  the  males  wander  soli- 
tary, or  in  twos  and  threes,  keeping,  however,  within 
easy  reach  of  their  respective  drumming-stations,  so  that 
their  russet  wives  may  occasionally  be  cheered  by  well- 
known  notes,  and  come  to  them,  if  their  eggs  be  molested 
by  predatory  vermin.  Like  the  average  man,  they  are 
very  busy  elsewhere  during  the  season  which  corresponds 
with  baby- wheeling,  but  by  some  strange  instinct  manage 
to  find  their  families  when  the  work  of  raising  the  young 
is  over.  This  is  about  September  1st,  and  unless  sepa- 
rated by  a  scarcity  of  food,  or  persistent  pursuit,  the 
members  of  each  family,  with  the  exception  of  some  of  the 
young  males,  remain  together  until  the  following  spring. 

The  young  can  fly  a  few  yards  when  a  week  or  ten 
days  old;  and  being  nearly  the  color  of  dead  leaves,  are 
seldom  captured. 

When  danger  threatens,  the  mother  shows  a  brave 
front,  usually  succeeding  in  diverting  attention  from  her 
young  until  they  have  found  shelter.  Everyone  who 
spends  much  time  in  the  woods  in  June  knows  the 
strength  of  this  maternal  love;  how  the  wranderer  is  sud- 
denly checked  in  his  walk  by  the  charge  of  an  infuriated 
bird,  sometimes  so  determined  that  he  steps  back  in 
alarm  or  amazement  before  he  realizes  what  is  being 
enacted;  how  the  bird  flies  at  the  face,  or  pecks  furiously 
at  the  feet,  before  retreating  and  simulating  a  broken 
wing,  or  leg,  or  both;  and  how,  when  the  scattered 
thoughts  have  been  collected,  and  pursuit  is  made,  the 
maimed  bird  suddenly  recovers,  and  flits  away,  leaving 
no  trace  of  her  deftly  concealed  progeny. 

I  have  never  seen  anything  in  bird-life  that  compares 
with  this  fierce  attack  of  the  mother,  nor  have  I  seen 
acting  that  surpasses  the  subterfuge  of  the  distressed  and 
trembling  bird. 


THE  RUFFED   GROUSE.  85 

The  drumming  of  the  male  begins  with  the  earlier 
indications  of  spring,  and  is  more  frequently  heard  as  the 
love-season  advances.  This  peculiar  throbbing  roll  is 
common  to  the  woodland  during  March,  April,  May,  and 
the  latter  part  of  February;  is  occasionally  heard  in 
summer,  frequently  in  the  fall,  and  rarely  upon  very 
warm  or  rainy  days  in  December  and  January. 

The  morning  hours  are  usually  selected  by  the  cock 
as  the  time  to  send  forth  these  notes  of  love,  although 
they  are  often  heard  in  the  late  afternoon,  and  at  other 
hours,  when  the  weather  is  warm  and  cloudy.  It  is  also 
common  on  warm,  cloudy  nights,  which  usually  precede 
rain. 

"Archer,"  who  is  excellent  authority,  says  that  barren 
hens  drum  occasionally  in  the  summer.  I  regret  that  this 
assertion  can  not  be  verified  by  personal  experience  or 
ornithological  works  at  hand.  The  difficulty  experienced 
by  gunners  in  distinguishing  the  sex  of  these  birds,  is  the 
principal  reason  for  this  point  remaining  in  dispute. 

Young  males,  more  gallant  than  wise,  do  much  of  the 
fall  drumming,  and  often  pay  for  their  temerity  with  their 
lives. 

The  muffled,  throbbing  sound  called  drumming  is 
essentially  a  love-call,  and,  under  favorable  atmospheric 
conditions,  may  be  heard  three-quarters  of  a  mile,  or  even 
farther.  When  loudest,  it  somewhat  resembles  the  quick 
roll  of  a  muffled  drum,  being  occasionally  mistaken  for 
distant  thunder.  It  begins  with  an  indistinct  thump, 
which  is  considerably  augmented  in  volume  at  the  second 
stroke  of  the  wings.  The  first  two  or  three  strokes  are 
quite  regularly  spaced,  with  intermissions  of  about  a 
second  each,  and  sound  very  much  like  the  flaps  of  the 
domestic  game-cock  when  he  is  about  to  crow.  After 
this  preliminary  flapping,  the  wing-strokes  suddenly 
increase  in  speed  until  they  can  be  no  longer  counted, 


86  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

and  the  sound  becomes  a  roar,  which  is  continued  for 
perhaps  five  seconds,  when  it  is  gradually  decreased  in 
volume,  and  brought  to  an  end  by  a  shortening  of  strokes 
rather  than  by  diminishing  the  speed  of  the  wings. 

Many  theories  are  advanced  as  to  the  exact  manner  of 
producing  this  peculiar  sound,  but  that  it  has  a  ventril- 
oquial  power,  in  seeming  equally  loud  and  distinct  at  the 
distances  of  150  feet  and  150  yards,  everyone  who  has 
stalked  a  drumming  bird  will  acknowledge. 

Long  ago,  this  woodland  music  was  thought  to  result 
from  wing-strokes  upon  a  hollow  log,  but  it  is  now  con- 
ceded by  the  majority  of  close  observers  to  be  due  to  the 
rapid  movement  of  the  stiffened  wings,  which  strike 
neither  the  body  nor  the  foot-rest  of  the  bird.  The  hollow 
log  theory  exploded  when  it  became  known  that  the  bird 
drummed  occasionally  when  standing  upon  rocks,  roots, 
and  mounds.  Many  experienced  ornithologists  claim  that 
the  sound  is  made  by  beating  the  wings  against  the  bod y; 
others,  by  striking  the  shoulder-points  together  over  the 
back;  while  a  few  insist  upon  its  being  "the  conjoint 
action  of  the  muscular  force  of  the  wings  and  the  inferior 
larynx,  which  is  the  special  avian  organ  of  sound." 
These  theories  seem  to  fall  before  the  shafts  of  "  Archer," 
who,  in  the  Chicago  Field  for  October,  1878,  relates 
his  experience  with  a  pet  canary,  which  learned  to  drum 
while  drying  its  feathers  after  a  bath,  and  subsequently 
kept  up  the  habit,  when  dry,  for  the  applause  he  received. 
When  drumming  while  perched  upon  the  hand,  the 
wings  failed  to  touch  the  body  or  the  perch,  and  a  linger 
held  over  the  back  showed  conclusively  that  they  did 
not  touch  above;  yet  the  drumming  was  in  exact  imita- 
tion of  the  grouse,  partaking  even  of  the  ventriloquial 
effect. 

Before  drumming   in    the  spring  of  the  year,   the 
male  marches  pompously  back  and  forth  upon  his  perch, 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE.  87 

imitating  very  closely  tlie  strutting  of  the  turkey-cock. 
The  great  pride  and  passion  displayed  on  these  occasions 
is  transiently  broken  by  drumming,  for  the  strained  and 
inflated  appearance  of  the  bird  indicates  that  all  of  his 
muscular  force  is  centered  in  the  production  of  the  love- 
call. 

For  his  drumming-post,  he  usually  selects  a  log  in 
dense  underbrush,  and  when  unmolested  will  give  vent 
to  his  feelings  each  morning  from  the  same  perch.  Pro- 
fessor Baird,  in  speaking  of  this  attachment,  mentions  a 
case  where  a  grouse  was  said  to  have  adhered  to  his 
drumming-log  after  the  woods  had  been  cut  away,  and  a 
road  made  near  by. 

In  the  fall,  this  habit  is  not  so  strictly  observed,  as 
the  writer  believes  that  on  several  occasions,  in  districts 
where  grouse  were  very  scarce,  and  easily  marked  down, 
he  has  heard  them  drum  after  alighting  from  the  first 
and  second  flushing. 

From  all  that  I  can  learn,  this  bird  does  not  drum  in 
captivity.  Mr.  J.  B.  Battelle,  editor  of  the  Business 
World,  at  Toledo,  Ohio,  who  has  been  kind  enough  to 
favor  me  with  the  result  of  his  experience  in  domesticat- 
ing the  ruffed  grouse,  says,  however,  that  when  excited 
the  female  taps  so  rapidly  upon  the  sides  of  the  coop 
with  her  bill  that  the  sound  could  be  mistaken  for  the 
drumming  of  the  male. 

One  must  be  a  quick,  cool  snap-shot  to  excel  in  shoot- 
ing this  grouse.  Instead  of  being  blinded  by  the  sudden 
whir  of  wings,  he  must  have  his  senses  so  keenly  alert 
that  the  moment  the  bird  leaves  the  ground  he  calculates 
instantaneously  at  what  point  in  the  course  of  its  flight 
he  will  shoot,  and  the  allowance  to  be  made,  if  any. 
This  having  been  done,  he  raises  the  gun  quickly,  and 
fires  the  moment  it  touches  his  shoulder.  Nothing  will 
help  him  to  accomplish  this  feat  so  quickly  as  the  prac- 


88  r  PI  AND  SHOOTING. 

tice,  at  home,  of  raising  the  gun,  and  trying  to  have  the 
sight  upon  a  nail-head,  or  other  small  mark,  when  the 
stock  strikes  the  shoulder. 

Xervous  men  often  miss  by  shooting  before  the  bird 
has  reached  its  line  of  flight,  forgetting  in  their  excite- 
ment to  hold  over,  while  others  thoughtlessly  lire  directly 
at  a  bird  descending  from  its  perch,  instead  of  holding 
under. 

Sometimes  it  is  seen  that  a  flying  bird  will  pass  from 
view,  behind  leaves  and  twigs,  before  the  gun  can  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  it.  In  this  case,  always  make  a 
quick  estimate  as  to  where  the  bird  will  probably  be  by 
the  time  you  can  fire,  and  then  shoot  to  hit  that  point. 
The  cool  man,  quick  to  decide,  kills  many  birds  in  this 
manner. 

Cross-shots  are  not  frequent,  and  do  not  require  as 
much  allowance  as  we  give  to  ducks,  the  flight  of  grouse 
in  timber  being  slower,  and  the  shooting  at  shorter 
distances.  In  large  openings,  however,  the  speed  occa- 
sionally equals  that  of  teals. 

An  eight-pound,  double-barreled,  twelve-bore  gun 
seems  to  be  the  favorite  for  this  game;  although  when  I 
once  stood  beside  a  snow-covered  brush-heap,  from  which 
ten  birds  emerged  at  two-second  intervals,  I  wished  for 
a  repeater. 

On  account  of  the  short  distance  at  which  most  grouse 
are  killed,  and  their  zigzag  flight  in  timber,  an  open-shoot- 
ing gun  will  not  only  bring  more  birds  to  bag,  but  it  will 
do  it  in  a  manner  that  permits  of  their  being  roasted 
instead  of  converted  into  hash. 

The  conditions  upon  which  guns  are  usually  targeted 
are,  \\  ounces  of  No.  8  shot,  thirty-inch  circle,  distance 
forty  yards. 

Upon  this  basis,  the  right  barrel,  if  habitually  used 
first,  should  make  a  pattern  of  about  250  pellets;  the  left. 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE.  89 

350.  In  a  large  majority  of  cases,  the  above-mentioned 
gun  will  give  satisfaction  when  loaded  as  follows:  Right 
barrel,  3J  drains  of  high-grade  black  or  wood  powder, 
two  heavy  wads,  1^  ounces  of  No.  8  shot,  card-board 
wad;  left  barrel,  3£  drams  best  black  powder,  two  heavy 
wads,  1-J-  ounces  of  No.  6  shot,  card-board  wad,  or  if 
using  brass  shells,  an  Ely  shot-wad. 

All  hunters  do  not  find  pleasure  in  the  pursuit  of  a 
bird  so  difficult  to  capture,  in  a  sportsmanlike  way,  as 
the  ruffed  grouse;  but  here,  as  elsewhere,  perseverance 
and  energy  win,  especially  if  coupled  with  the  faculty  of 
observing  closely. 

I  do  not  know  why,  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  when  we  hear 
a  man  spoken  of  as  a  successful  hunter  of  this  bird,  we  at 
once  believe  him  to  be  energetic,  persevering,  intelligent^ 
generous— in  short,  a  desirable  camp  companion. 

We  would  know  more  of  the  successful  still  hunter 
before  joining  him  upon  a  long  trip;  for  have  we  not  read 
that  he  Avears  his  hair  long,  and  is  crafty  and  garrulous, 
or  lazy,  or  that  he  toes  in,  or  has  killed  hoop-snakes? 

But  we  never  hear  these  things  about  the  grouse- 
hunter.  When  he  looks  us  in  the  eyes,  and  says:  ''John 
and  I  killed  fourteen  yesterday,  and  we're  going  again 
to-morrow;  come  and  go  with  us,"  we  Say  without  hesita- 
tion: "All  right,  Tom;  we'll  be  with  you  in  the  morning, 
without  fail." 

The  man  who  never  gives  a  retrospective  moment  to 
the  time  when  he  looked  on  the  magnified  form  of  his 
first  ruffed  grouse,  must  be  more  than  ordinarily  busy 
or  care-laden. 

That  blissful  day  of  youth,  to  which  we  subsequently 
manage  to  refer  on  all  social  occasions,  regardless  of  the 
subject  under  consideration,  was  probably  fraught  with 
boundless  exultation,  a  fitful  sadness  we  could  not  define, 
and  were  ashamed  to  acknowledge,  and  an  Aladdin-like 


90  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

growth,  which  would  have  carried  us  quite  to  the  sky  had 
not  our  listeners  refused  to  swallow,  verbatim  et  literatim, 
our  proffered  cup  of  joy. 

Does  it  make  the  retrospection  less  delightful  to  think 
of  the  first  successful  shot  as  having  been  made  at  a  sit- 
ting bird,  with  a  wof  ul-looking  gun,  loaded  with  cheap 
powder,  newspaper  wadding,  and  No.  1  shot? 

Was  not  the  boy  of  whom  we  borrowed  a  jolly  bit  of 
humanity,  for  one  obliged  to  work  on  Saturdays,  and  did 
he  ever  refuse  to  lend  that  venerable  relic  upon  the 
unsubstantial  consideration  of  I  O  U  eternal  friendship? 

Did  not  the  man  who  sold  us  the  powder  say  it  was 
some  he  had  bought  for  his  own  use,  and  he  only  parted 
with  a  little  of  it  because  of  the  great  love  he  bore  us? 

Did  he  not  say  that  he  was  out  of  No.  3.  but  that 
with  No.  1  we  need  not  carry  a  club  with  which  to  give 
the  finishing  stroke? 

And  was  not  the  newspaper  equal  to  hornet' s-nest  for 
wadding? 

Indeed  it  was,  for  it  brought  a  "free  from  care" 
happiness  we  do  not  experience  later  in  life,  though 
equipped  with  all  that  fancy  dictates. 

In  looking  back  upon  my  many  trips  afield  in  pursuit 
of  this  noble  bird  of  the  uplands,  it  is  with  regret  that  I 
recall  the  fact  of  having  been  denied  the  brief  period  of 
ecstasy  which  nearly  always  accompanies  the  capture  of 
the  first  specimen.  It  is  a  thousand  miles  to  the  scene 
of  that  first  exploit,  yet  distance  and  time  are  obliterated 
at  a  glance,  for  I  see  a  smooth-flowing,  beautiful  river, 
between  woods  of  maple,  and  beech,  and  oak.  The  sun 
shines  upon  a  light  skiff  which  contains  an  indulgent 
father  and  a  ten-year-old,  happy  boy.  On  one  of  the 
longer  reaches,  the  boat  is  met  by  a  lone  Indian  in  a 
light  canoe,  who,  without  flourish  of  rhetoric,  tells  of  a 
flock  of  wild  turkeys  to  be  found  at  the  bend  above. 


THE   BUFFED    GROUSE.  91 

The  wily  aboriginal,  having  exchanged  a  mental  inven- 
tion for  a  good,  cigar,  drops  his  tiiolling-spoou  into  the 
water,  and  paddles  away  with  silent  stroke. 

In  a  stage  whisper,  the  boy  asks  to  be  put  ashore. 
The  father  consents,  then  continues  quietly  on  his  way, 
while  the  boy,  who  has  never  seen  a  quail  or  a  grouse — 
much  less  a  wild  turkey — with  fast-beating  heart  and 
unsteady  step,  follows  the  indistinct  path  along  the 
stream.  Very  soon  he  is  startled  by  a  rustling  in  the  dry 
leaves,  and  sees  a  large  bird,  with  fan-like  tail,  step  into 
the  path  before  him.  The  gun  is  raised,  and  fired  without 
aim,  and  the  bird  is  seen  fluttering  in  its  death-struggles. 

"So  you  are  a  wild  turkey,  are  you?"  soliloquizes 
the  boy,  as  he  holds  with  trembling  hands  his  prize. 
But  before  he  can  shout  to  his  father,  two  men  appear 
on  the  path,  and  stop  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  shot. 
The  boy  holds  his  game  aloft,  but  is  checked  in  enthusi- 
astic utterance  by  the  indifference  on  the  two  new  faces. 
Then  one  of  the  two  slowly  says:  "Ye  killed  a  pattridge, 
did  ye  r3 

Confused  beyond  responsibility  for  his  words,  the  boy 
asks:  "  Is  that  a  pattridge  ?" 

"Yes,  sonny,  that's  a  pattridge;  didn't  think  it  was 
a  whale,  did  ye  ?" 

But  we  will  pass  by  that  first  great  disappointment, 
and  the  fact  that  the  dismantled  "turkey"  regained 
much  of  its  original  magnificence  before  the  day  was 
ended,  and  return  to  the  habits  of  Bonasa,  which  will 
perhaps  interest  the  reader  more. 

This  species,  I  believe,  is  the  only  one  known  to  have 
the  habit  of  plunging  into  light  snow  for  protection  from 
pursuit  or  extreme  cold.  The  momentum  of  flight, 
which  carries  the  bird  under  the  snow  several  feet  hori- 
zontally, and  nearly  a  foot  perpendicularly,  is  supposed 
to  be  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  this  act;  but 


•  >2  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

having  seen  birds  emerge  at  least  six  feet  from  where 
they  entered,  the  writer  believes  them  capable  of  forcing 
their  way  through  very  light  snow,  after  entering  in  the 
manner  described. 

One  cold  morning,  I  started  a  ruffed  grouse,  which 
flew  into  the  deep  snow  less  than  100  yards  away.  Keep- 
ing the  spot  in  view  while  making  a  cautious  approach, 
I  soon  saw  the  bird  stick  its  head  out  of  the  snow,  about 
six  feet  from  where  it  entered,  and,  after  a  hasty  survey, 
take  wing. 

Several  times  since,  I  have  seen  burrows  in  the  snow 
evidently  made  by  these  birds.  Although  many  believe 
that  birds  thus  concealed  may  be  easily  captured,  it- 
will  be  found  a  very  difficult  thing  to  do.  I  do  not  pos- 
itively know  of  one  having  been  taken  in  this  way. 

There  is  also  a  general  belief  that  when  crusts  form 
over  the  snow,  large  numbers  of  birds  are  imprisoned  and 
perish.  In  support  of  this,  several  ornithologists  point  to 
a  scarcity  of  birds  during  seasons  succeeding  winters 
noted  for  deep  snows,  and  weather  favorable  to  the 
formation  of  crusts,  and  to  the  finding  of  dead  birds 
after  the  snow  has  melted  in  the  spring.  While  it  is  true 
that  naturalists,  who  are  especially  active  in  the  spring, 
should  know  more  about  this  subject  than  the  sportsman, 
who  rarely  enters  the  woods  earlier  than  July,  I  incline 
to  the  opinion  that  comparatively  few  grouse  die  from 
this  cause. 

In  the  boreal  regions,  where  thaws  and  rains  are 
infrequent  in  the  winter,  this  practice  of  roosting  under 
the  snow  may  be  common,  but  south  of  Latitude  45, 
everyone  who  has  explored  the  woods  on  cold  morn- 
ings knows  it  to  be  rare,  from  the  fact  that  grouse  are 
found  in  trees,  fallen  tops,  or  loose  brush-heaps. 

Authors  agree  that  the  bird  enters  only  dry,  light 
snow.  To  imprison  them,  then,  the  weather  must  sud- 


THP:  RUFFED  GROUSE.  93 

denly  turn  warm,  and  as  suddenly  cold.  Birds  come 
forth  every  warm  or  pleasant  day  in  search  of  food,  and 
should  the  snow  become  crusted  or  damp  during  their 
absence,  would  not  reenter  it  at  night.  Consequently 
the  disastrous  change  must  take  place  at  night,  and 
consist  of  rain,  night  thaws  being  uncommon. 

How  many  instances  can  the  reader  recall,  when  the 
snow  was  fresh  and  deep,  where  the  weather  has  changed 
from  extreme  cold  to  rain,  and  again  to  cold,  between  the 
hours  of  5  p.  m.  and  8  a,  m.  \ 

If  very  few,  and  single  birds,  unable  to  find  a  bed-fel- 
low, only  occasionally  indulge  in  this  eccentricity,  the 
loss  from  crusting  can  not  be  very  great.  Either  insuffi- 
cient food,  prolonged  cold  in  connection  with  deep  snows 
of  early  winter,  disease,  or  gunshot  wounds,  may 
account  for  dead  birds  being  found  when  the  snow  has 
disappeared. 

What  few  "burrows*'  I  have  seen  were  situated  in 
comparatively  open  parts  of  the  woods — therefore  reached 
by  the  sun.  While  this  seemingly  indicates  that  the 
grouse  remains  in  his  snowy  retreat  during  a  part  of  the 
sunshiny  days,  the  open  spaces  are  more  probably 
selected  because  of  the  absence  of  underbrush,  which 
permits  of  his  striking  the  snow  at  the  angle  necessary  to 
make  a  horizontal  burrow. 

Except  in  a  few  districts  in  the  far  North  or  North- 
west, the  ruffed  grouse  has  learned  to  fear  man  to  such 
an  extent  that  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  make  a  satis- 
factory score  without  the  aid  of  a  well-broken  dog/  to 
divert  the  bird's  attention  while  one  gains  the  proper 
shot-gun  range. 

Even  in  those  outlying  districts  where  pot-shooting  is 
the  rule,  the  bag  may  be  increased  with  the  help  of  an 
experienced  setter,  pointer,  or  spaniel. 

The  setter  is  best,  because  of  his  thick  coat,  which 


94  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

enables  him  the  more  easily  to  enter  briar-patches  and 
thorny  thickets,  and  to  withstand  cold;  for  the  ruffed 
grouse  is  nearly  always  hunted  in  cold  or  temperate 
weather. 

The  following  experience  in  support  of  his  superior- 
ity comes  to  mind: 

I  was  among  the  blackberry-patches  of  Saginaw 
County,  Mich.,  for  a  week's  shooting,  and  had  as  com- 
panions two  dogs;  one  a  well-broken  pointer  (not  a  blue- 
blood),  the  other  a  thick-coated  Irish  setter,  who  had  so 
far  forgotten  his  early  training,  by  serving  as  ''town 
dog,"  as  to  chase  a  bird  until  it  took  refuge  in  a  tree, 
and  then  proclaim  the  fact  with  an  indefatigable  vehemence 
that  was  very  amusing  to  everyone  save  his  owner. 

On  the  second  morning,  the  pointer  refused  to  enter 
the  thorny  coverts.  I  therefore  sent  in  the  ambitious 
red-coat,  who  hurriedly  dispersed  the  congregations. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  hour,  I  caught  and  thrashed  him. 
This  was  repeated  at  irregular  intervals  until  night-fall, 
when  I  had  a  thoroughly  subjugated  dog,  and  all  of  my 
shells  intact. 

Next  morning,  much  to  my  surprise,  this  dog  pointed 
like  a  veteran,  while  the  pointer  again  refused  to  face 
the  briars.  The  setter  was  therefore  used  during  the 
remainder  of  my  stay. 

By  the  third  night  he  had  worn  off  what  we  term  the 
"wire  edge,"  and  a  large  portion  of  his  coat;  but, 
undaunted  as  before,  he  resolutely  obeyed  every  motion, 
pointed  with  excellent  judgment,  and  without  breaking, 
and  worked  as  industriously  and  unflinchingly  on  the  last 
day  as  on  the  third.  It  was  a  wonderful  performance, 
but  one  that  shall  never  be  repeated  by  one  of  my  dogs, 
for  after  our  return  home  the  poor  fellow  lay  by  the  fire 
three  days,  nearly  blind,  and  so  foot-sore  he  could  not 
walk. 


(95) 


96  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

A  dog  broken  on  ruffed  grouse  is  better  for  that  par- 
ticular game  bird,  and  an  old  dog  better  than  a  young 
one.  If  the  sportsman  can  own  but  one  dog,  whose  time 
'afield  will  be  equally  divided  between  ruffed  grouse  and 
quail,  I  would  suggest  his  being  broken  on  the  former 
bird,  unless  the  hunting  be  done  on  horseback,  or  the 
puppy  be  a  descendant  of  potterers. 

It  being  the  fashion  at  present  to  raise  fast,  wide-rang- 
ing dogs,  it  will  be  found  easier  to  restrain  this  instinct 
in  the  puppy  than  after  it  has  been  sanctioned  a  season 
or  two  upon  the  quail-field.  The  disposition  of  the  high- 
strung  dog  to  range  just  behind  the  border  of  his  limit  is 
never  quite  eliminated  by  early  work  on  ruffed  grouse, 
and  is  only  checked  by  frequent  practice  under  a  master 
hand. 

As  Nature  asserts  herself  when  untrammeled,  so  will  a 
temporary  "  grouse  potterer "  soon  range  wide  enough 
when  transferred  to  the  more  open  domain  of  Bob  White. 
In  many  parts  of  our  country,  however,  this  dog-break- 
ing on  ruffed  grouse  is  a  tedious  and  expensive  task; 
but  if  BONASA  is  our  favorite  game  bird,  and  we  hunt  it 
more  than  any  other,  the  time  given  to  the  dog' s  educa- 
tion is  an  investment  that  will  eventually  bring  us  many 
happy  hours,  and  a  companion  capable  of  sympathizing 
with  us  in  our  sorrowful  moments,  and  worthy  of  sharing 
the  joy  of  our  happiest  days  in  the  woods. 

Never  begin  the  work,  though,  unless  you  have  ample 
time  and  patience,  or  money  to  pay  for  its  being  well 
done;  for  of  all  the  exasperating  and  comfort-destroying 
things  wThich  come  to  the  sportsman  afield,  none  equals 
the  torture  brought  by  the  crazy  antics  of  a  half -broken 
dog.  The  initial  lessons  may  be  given  on  young  birds, 
which  lie  better;  but  if  this  course  be  too  long  followed, 
many  old  birds  will  be  flushed  ere  the  dog  learns  that 
safety  lies  in  stopping  the  instant  a  bird  is  scented. 


THE   KUFFED   GROUSE.  97 

The  perfect  dog  lias  a  keen  nose;  knows  nearly  as  well 
as  his  master  where  game  is  likely  to  be  found;  silently 
approaches  promising  coverts  from  the  leeward;  points 
the  instant  lie  catches  scent:  keeps  in  sight  of  his  master; 
watches  him,  and  obeys  each  motion;  holds  his  point 
until  ordered  to  flush;  stops  until  ordered  to  retrieve,  and 
quarters  his  ground  thoroughly  at  a  moderate  gait. 

Next  in  value  to  the  setter  and  the  pointer  is  a  well- 
broken  spaniel,  which  follows  at  heel  until  ordered  to 
scour  a  thicket  upon  whose  border  your  companion  and 
self  have  taken  stands. 

In  wooded  regions,  where  but  little  hunting  is  done,  a 
fast,  ranging,  yelping  cur  will  tree  about  one-half  of  the 
birds  found;  but  etiquette  no  longer  allows  the  sportsman 
to  shoot  a  sitting  bird,  though  the  chances  are  two  to  one 
he  will  miss  it  if  flushed. 

When  conscious  of  danger,  this  grouse  rises  with  a 
loud  whir,  and,  if  the  surroundings  are  favorable,  flies 
straight  away  from  the  cause  of  alarm.  It  seldom  rises 
more  than  ten  feet  in  the  air,  and  the  flight  is  rarely  pro- 
tracted beyond  250  yards.  When  suddenly  disturbed  by 
a  dog  or  fox,  and  rising,  as  it  were,  to  a  point  of  inquiry, 
the  flight  is  often  silent,  as  it  always  is  when  the  bird 
rises  of  its  own  accord.  In  the  latter  case,  the  flight 
closely  resembles  that  of  the  pinnated  grouse,  part  of  it 
being  made  with  extended  wings;  but  when  forced,  it  is 
almost  invariably  a  continual  beating  of  wings. 

This  bird  flies  at  night  only  when  disturbed.  I  have 
never  known  of  its  coming  in  contact  with  trees,  on  even 
the  darkest  nights,  though  it  occasionally  rises  above 
them,  as  if  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  such  an  occurrence. 
In  the  day-time,  it  has  been  known  to  fly  against  windows 
and  white  houses. 

Young  birds  are  most  delicious  as  food.  In  fact,  all 
are  in  prime  condition  for  the  table  during  early  autumn, 


98  UPLAND  SHOOTING. 

and,  if  properly  cooked,  rank  with  the  best  of  game 
birds. 

A  belief  prevails  in  districts  where  the  laurel  (Kali//  fa 
latifolid)  grows,  that  the  liesh  can  not  be  eaten  with 
safety  when  snow  covers  the  ground.  If,  from  a  scarcity 
of  other  food,  there  be  reason  to  think  that  the  bird  has 
eaten  of  this  poisonous  shrub,  the  crop  and  intestines 
should  be  removed  immediately  after  death,  and  examined. 
The  fact  that  the  bird  is  not  killed  by  an  occasional  indul- 
gence, seems  to  indicate  that  the  laurel  is  not  a  virulent 
poison,  or  that  dangerous  absorption  is  possible  only 
after  death.  The  examination,  however,  will  put  the 
mind  at  rest,  if  our  Southern  brother  sportsmen  be  in 
doubt  regarding  this  absorption  in  life. 

The  food  of  this  species  consists,  in  summer,  of  straw- 
» berries,  blackberries,  raspberries,  blueberries,  huckleber- 
ries, wheat,  choke-cherries,  grasshoppers,  and  other 
insects;  in  the  fall,  of  wild  grapes,  cranberries,  the  seeds 
of  blackberries,  insects,  haws,  wintergreen  berries  and 
leaves,  buckwheat,  corn,  thorn-apples,  and  partridge- 
berries;  in  the  winter,  of  thorn-apples,  acorns,  winter- 
greens,  grape  seeds  and  leaves,  and  cone-seeds  of  ever- 
greens; and  during  the  early  spring,  principally  of  the 
buds  of  the  birch,  the  poplar,  the  beech,  the  alder,  and, 
rarely,  those  of  the  apple. 

Whenever  ruffed  grouse  enter  a  grain-field,  which 
is  not  often,  they  keep  close  to  the  fence,  and  upon  the 
first  intimation  of  danger,  retire  to  the  nearest  sequestered 
retreat.  Like  the  domestic  fowl,  they  avail  themselves  of 
sunny,  sandy  spots  wherein  to  dust  and  scratch. 

Mr.  Audubon  states  that,  where  very  abundant,  these 
birds  perform  partial  migrations,  evidently  in  search  of 
food.  These  sallies  have  always  been  extremely  rare,  and 
now  that  birds  are  no  longer  abundant,  have  undoubt- 
edly ceased. 


THE   RUFFED  GROUSE.  99 

Rarely  do  they  wander  more  than  a  mile  from  their 
birth-place.  Knowing  this,  one  would  naturally  expect 
to  rind  them  far  more  plentiful  away  from  civilization 
than  near  small  towns,  where  they  are  often  hunted;  but 
while  this  is  usually  true,  there  are  so  many  glaring 
exceptions  that  one  loses  himself  in  trying  to  account 
for  them.  Of  course  the  wariness  of  the  "civilized" 
bird  tends  to  foil  the  exterminator,  and  the  unsus- 
pecting nature  of  the  other  assists  carnivorous  animals 
and  certain  birds  of  prey  to  many  a  meal;  but  this 
does  not  satisfactorily  explain  the  scarcity  of  birds 
where  the  natural  increase  should  make  them  plen- 
tiful. 

When  snow  covers  the  ground,  the  roosting- place  is 
either  the  lower  branches  of  a  thick-topped  tree,  or  some 
sheltered  spot  upon  the  ground,  such  as  a  fallen  top,  a 
brush-heap,  or  a  cavity  beneath  a  log.  At  other  seasons, 
they  roost  in  thickets,  on  logs,  on  the  ground  beside  a 
log  or  stump,  and  occasionally  in  pine,  oak,  beech, 
spruce,  birch,  or  poplar  trees,  often  making  a  flight  before 
settling,  either  that  they  may  leave  no  trail  for  Reynard 
to  follow,  or  because  they  have  been  driven  or  have 
wandered  from  home  during  the  day  or  the  day  previous. 
These  flights  are  silent,  and  best  known  to  hunters  who 
watch  for  feeding  deer  at  sunset. 

The  variety  found  in  the  dense  forests  of  the  North- 
west, roost  in  the  tops  of  tall  evergreen  trees  in  winter. 
They  feed  upon  the  buds  and  cones,  which  impart  a  dis- 
agreeable flavor  to  the  flesh.  When  flushed,  they  fly 
to  the  upper  branches  of  other  trees.  At  other  times, 
they  differ  in  habit  from  the  Eastern  variety  only  in  more 
readily  taking  to  trees  at  a  greater  height. 

While  upon  the  habits  of  this  bird,  I  am  tempted  to 
quote  a  few  lines  from  the  poet  Isaac  McLellan,  a  close 
student  and  lover  of  Nature.  Only  half  of  the  charming 


100  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

poem  is  quoted,  as  were  I  to  give  the  other  half,  there 
would  be  nothing  left  for  me  to  say: 

"  In  rocky  regions,  where  the  pine 
And  spruce  and  hemlock  intertwine, 
Forming  an  overhanging  roof, 
Against  the  rain  and  sunbeam  proof. 
So  dense  that  scarce  a  ray  may  pour 
Across  the  dark  and  russet  floor, 
There  doth  the  speckled  partridge  come, 
In  dim  recess  to  make  a  h^me ; 
To  sound  the  drum,  or  forth  to  lead 
The  young,  on  berries  ripe  to  feed; 
Prompt  on  affrighted  wing  to  break 
When  foes  the  tangled  thickets  shake. 
They  love  the  lofty,  breezjr  height. 
The  hill-side,  with  its  sunshine  bright; 
The  long,  mountainous  range  of  hills, 
Where  bubble  forth  the  crystal  rills, 
Where  oak  and  laurel  intertwine, 
And  shakes  its  plumy  crest  the  pine; 
And  there  they  love  to  lurk,  and  feed 
On  falling  mast  and  dropping  seed." 

If  the  sight  of  these  brown-eyed,  innocent  beauties, 
busily  dusting  themselves  or  receiving  food  from  the 
.mother's  bill,  will  not  inspire  a  man  with  tender  and 
pleasing  emotions,  it  is  doubtful  if  anything  ever  will. 
The  instinct  to  kill  is  strong  in  the  hunter;  so  strong,  in 
fact,  that  he  sometimes  kills  with  the  knowledge  that 
regret  will  follow;  but  I  have  yet  to  see  the  man  so 
merciless — so  utterly  destitute  of  all  the  qualities  that 
make  life  enjoyable — as  to  fire  into  a  huddled  brood  of 
these  harmless  birds.  The  temptation  to  shoot  single 
birds,  upon  the  ground  or  in  trees,  is  greater,  perhaps, 
than  the  inclination  to  deny  it  when  done;  but  such  acts 
bring  lasting  pleasure  only  to  the  youthful  tyro;  whereas 
one  bird  killed  upon  the  wing  is  worth  a  dozen  potted 
ones  to  the  sportsman,  who  hunts  for  pleasure. 

The  members  of  a  scattered  covey  return  on  foot  to 


THE  RUFFED   GROUSE.  101 

the  point  whence  they  were  flushed,  reuniting  about  an 
hour  after  the  separation.  They  then  usually  move  to 
some  other  part  of  the  forest,  returning  on  the  evening 
of  the  following  day. 

AVhen  danger  threatens,  they  generally  squat,  and 
remain  motionless  until  forced  to  rise,  which  they  do 
with  a  loud,  whirring  noise.  At  times,  however,  especially 
in  extensive  forests,  they  spread  the  tail  and  walk 
proudly  some  distance;  then,  dropping  all  appearance  of 
dignity,  run  swiftly  before  taking  wing.  Even  in  local- 
ities where  often  disturbed,  there  are  occasions  when 
they  seem  to  know  but  little  fear,  and  again,  they  are 
quite  wild  in  deep  woods,  where  one  would  expect  to 
find  them  tame. 

TVhen  shot  only  in  the  head,  they  tower  above  the 
tallest  trees,  fluttering  to  the  earth  almost  perpendic- 
ularly. 

In  addition  to  their  deadly  enemy,  man,  they  have 
the  fox,  the  weasel,  the  mink,  the  wildcat,  the  lynx,  the 
opossum,  the  owl,  and  the  hawk  to  guard  against,  all  of 
which,  in  some  sections,  are  sufficiently  numerous  to 
render  bird-life  precarious. 

East  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  ruffed  grouse  lies 
better  in  September  and  December  than  in  the  interven- 
ing months,  and  closer  on  snowy  days  than  on  pleasant 
ones.  I  have  found  them  unusually  wild  on  very  windy 
days  in  autumn,  though  a  frequent  contributor  to  one  of 
our  leading  journals  says  the  opposite  is  true. 

It  occasionally  happens  that  we  flrid  eight  or  ten  of 
these  birds  in  an  evergreen  tree.  A  belief  prevails  that 
when  thus  circumstanced  one  may  pot  the  covey  by 
each  time  shooting  the  lower  bird.  Different  coveys,  how- 
ever, seem  to  have  different  opinions  as  to  the  fitness  of 
the  proceeding,  as  very  man}7  times  the  gunner  has  to 
content  himself  with  a  single  bird.  With  a  rifle  of  small 


102  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

bore,  one  may  do  a  little  better  if  he  shoot  at  the  body, 
but  the  first  fluttering  bird  is  pretty  apt  to  i flush  the 
remainder  of  the  covey. 

Nearly  every  sportsman  has  had  experience  in  shoot- 
ing at  sitting  birds  with  a  rifle.  Being  proverbially  hon- 
est, he  can  confess  to  frequent  misses  (when  he  was  a 
boy — when  he  was  a  boy),  possibly  more  than  one  at  the 
same  exalted  neck,  which  finally  left  him,  in  order  that 
some  other  beginner  might  have  his  little  anecdote  to  tell. 

Another  feature  known  to  sportsmen,  and  lovers  of 
Nature,  is  the  peculiar  throb  or  flap  which  is  often  made 
by  this  grouse  when  alighting  in  a  tree,  and  which  dis- 
closes their  location  while  yet  unseen.  While  obviously 
made  by  the  closing  of  the  wings,  it  is  not  always  heard, 
being  more  frequent  when  the  bird  has  attained  consid- 
erable speed  before  alighting,  but  often  when  rising  by 
silent  flight  to  a  perch  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground. 
Whether  made  at  will,  or  the  result  of  the  state  of  mind 
when  flushed,  I  know  not,  but  it  is  not  caused  by  the 
wings  coming  in  contact  with  leaves  or  branches,  as  I 
once  supposed;  for  I  have  heard  the  sound  under  con- 
ditions which  rendered  such  a  thing  impossible.  If 
caused  by  the  wings  striking  the  perch,  the  sound  would 
scarcely  be  intermittent,  as  the  bird  rises  to  its  perch 
at  a  sharp  angle,  instead  of  sitting  upon  it  from  above. 

Wing-tipped  birds  are  pretty  certain  to  escape,  unless 
you  have  a  knowing  dog.  They  not  only  flatten  them- 
selves among  the  leaves  of  their  color,  but  quickly  hide 
under  stumps  and  logs,  and  in  cavities  at  the  foot  of 
decayed  trees. 

In  semi-cultivated  districts,  they  either  tree  at  the 
second  or  third  flushing,  or  lie  closely.  Whenever  they 
fly  straight  toward  a  field,  or  other  large  opening,  distant 
not  more  than  150  yards,  the  probabilities  are  that  they 
will  be  found  in  trees  near  the  edge  of  the  wood. 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE.  103 

Although  they  dislike  to  cross  large  rivers  or  fields,  they 
decide  the  question,  when  nearing  the  opening,  without 
the  least  hesitation.  If  the  decision  be  in  the  affirmative, 
and  the  flight  be  down  wind,,  they  soon  attain  a  speed 
that  astonishes  the  beholder,  especially  if  he  witness  the 
latter  part  of  the  open  flight,  which  is  often  made  Avith 
set  wings. 

Ordinarily,  they  are  easily  approached  when  in  a  tree. 
A  barking  dog  insures  success;  but  the  boy,  minus  the 
dog,  who  thinks  whistling  such  airs  as  ' '  Zip  Coon ' '  or 
"  Yankee  Doodle""  helps  him  in  stealing  a  march,  chews 
the  cud  of  disappointment  quite  as  often  as  that  of 
success. 

Do  not  think  because  you  have  flushed  half  a  dozen 
birds  almost  simultaneously,  from  either  tree  or  thicket, 
that  all  have  gone.  Very  often  one  or  t\vo  remain  to 
startle  you  with  their  nerve-destroying  whir  when  you 
have  turned  your  back  upon  the  spot. 

In  flat,  densely  wooded  localities,  they  afford  rather 
better  sport  than  among  mountains,  for  the  reason  that 
they  lie  better  to  the  dog;  and  the  walking  being  easier, 
one  can  hunt  over  more  ground  in  a  given  time. 

The  color  of  the  clothing  worn  by  the  grouse-hunter 
is  not  so  material  as  in  wild  fowl  shooting,  but  gray 
seems  to  occupy  about  the  same  place  in  the  list  of  colors 
as  No.  6  shot  among  its  kind.  A  light  drab  or  cream- 
colored  suit  of  corduroy  answers  very  nicely  for  all  sorts 
of  shooting — is  noiseless  and  durable  in  briars,  and  resists 
moderate  moisture.  Corduroy  is  preferable  to  mackin- 
tosh, moleskin,  or  canvas  for  all-round  work. 

Carry  your  gun  cocked,  if  alone;  in  company,  do  so 
only  when  expecting  a  rise.  When  separated  from  your 
companion,  and  on  territory  where  you  can  see  but  a 
short  distance,  ncrt-r  fire  unless  you  know  exactly  where 
he  is,  more  especially  if  the  ground  be  uneven.  The 


104  UPLAND    SIIOOTIXG. 

low  fiight  of  the  ruffed  grouse  makes  such  shooting 
extremely  dangerous.  It  will  be  found  as  hard  to  restore 
your  peace  of  mind  when  once  you  have  shot  out  the  eye 
of  a  beloved  companion  as  to  "buy  with  gold  the  old 
associations."  The  men  who  fire  at  all  moving  objects, 
patches  of  hair,  tufts  of  feathers,  or  at  unknown  objects 
in  waving  grass,  are  not  desirable  comrades.  Let  your 
motto  be:  Never  fire  till  you  know  what  you  are  shoot- 
ing at.  By  following  this  rule,  I  have  missed  killing 
several  deer  and  a  bear — also  a  man. 

Naturalists  unite  in  ascribing  polygamy  to  the  ruffed 
grouse;  and  just  here  I  wish  to  remark  that  it  is  unsafe 
to  disagree  with  all,  or  even  one  of  them,  for  their  state- 
ments— unlike  their  birds — contain  something  more  sub- 
stantial than  cotton. 

Still,  I  can  find  a  little  fault  with  the  word  as  applied 
to  this  grouse,  and  I  can  also  theorize  a  little,  without 
disturbing  very  many  feathers.  Even  "polygyny," 
which  seems  to  me  a  more  suitable  word,  implies  the 
violation  of  a  law,  and  is  harsh  and  unsatisfactory  when 
applied  to  animate  nature,  which  knows  and  follows 
instinct  alone.  If  those  birds  which  pair  anew  each 
spring  comply  with  the  unwritten  law,  it  is  surely 
unjust  to  term  them  polygamous;  and  equally  unkind  to 
apply  the  word  to  those  females  which  seek  the  society 
of  a  male  a  second  time  only  when  their  first  laying  has 
been  destroyed.  I  would  place  the  female  ruffed  grouse 
in  the  latter  class. 

As  I  have  taken  but  very  few  specimens  in  the  sum- 
mer, I  can  not  speak  by  the  right  kind  of  experience 
regarding  barren  hens,  said  to  do  much  of  the  summer 
drumming.  Neither  can  I  understand  why  they  occur, 
if  polygamy  be  practiced,  as  the  female  is  nearly  always 
within  hearing  distance  of  the  drummers  call. 

The  belief  that  the  male  deserts  the  hen  during  incu- 


THE    RUFFED    GROUSE.  105 

bation  seems  to  be  responsible,  in  part,  for  the  assertion 
that  the  males  are  impartial  in  their  love-making;  but  if 
the  desertion  be  wholly  the  act  of  the  female,  through 
fear  that  the  cock  will  destroy  her  eggs,  or  chicks,  for 
the  purpose  of  a  ne\v  courtship,  the  argument  loses  its 
force.  I  incline  to  this  theory,  from  never  having  found 
a  male  with  the  mother  of  chicks,  and  from  the  habit  the 
hen  has  of  concealing  her  nest  when  leaving  it  in  search 
of  food. 

•  It  is  quite  certain  that  mature  birds  of  both  sexes  are 
often  found  with  well-grown  broods  after  the  1st  of 
September;  and  that,  under  favorable  conditions,  these 
harmonious  relations  continue  until  the  young  seek 
mates  in  the  spring.  If  the  mature  birds  thus  found  are 
the  parents  of  the  brood,  it  would  seem  that  something 
beyond  chance  brings  and  keeps  them  together,  and  is 
suggestive  of  a  renewal  of  the  former  relationship.  In 
case  of  unavoidable  separation,  or  more  females  than 
males,  new  ties  might,  and  probably  would,  be  formed  - 
but  the  violation  of  Nature's  law— if  such  it  can  be  called 
— on  the  part  of  the  hen  is  more  technical  than  real. 
The  great  passion  shown  by  the  male  during  three  months 
of  each  year,  and  his  apparent  indifference  at  other 
times,  would  seem  to  be  prima  facie  evidence  of  a  more 
elastic  virtue;  still,  unless  an  equal  number  of  cocks  and 
hens  could  be  cooped  together,  I  should  consider  all 
experiments  touching  this  point  unsatisfactory. 

Mr.  Battelle,  before  referred  to,  has  had  the  following 
experience:  Twice  he  found  one  set  of  fertile  and  one  of 
sterile  eggs  in  a  coop  of  two  hens  and  a  cock,  but  each 
time  the  sterile  laying  was 'begun  within  a  week  after  the 
male  had  been  placed  in  the-  coop,  while  the  fertile  eggs 
were  laid  two  or  three  weeks  later.  Mr.  Battelle's  ex- 
perience leads  him  to  think  the  bird  polygamous,  or  at 
least  polygynous,  though  I  believe  he  still  lacks  positive 


106  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

proof.  For  the  past  live  or  six  years  he  has  kindly 
given  the  result  of  each  season's  experiments  to  the  pub- 
lic through  the  medium  of  sportsmen's  journals.  Unfort- 
unately, his  efforts  have  been  hampered  by  an  insuffi- 
ciency of  birds;  but  if  students  of  natural  history  will 
help  him  in  this  particular,  they  will  not  only  confer  a 
mutual  benefit,  but  will  favor  future  generations,  as  Mr. 
Battelle  expects  to  demonstrate  that  the  ruffed  grouse 
may  be  wholly  or  partially  domesticated.  He  predicts 
that,  eventually,  they  will  occupy  here  the  place  of  the 
pheasant  in  England. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  item  upon  which  hinges  the 
dispute  concerning  the  habits  of  the  grouse,  viz  :  the 
similar  appearance  of  the  sexes. 

All  busy  men,  who  now  and  then  take  a  day  afield, 
have  noticed  it.  Many  have  thought  that  a  solution  of 
the  problem  involved  a  study  of  natural  history,  for 
which  they  had  not  time,  or  that  the  knowledge,  when 
gained,  would  prove  more  interesting  than  useful,  besides 
being  a  topic  in  which  brother  sportsmen  would  take  but 
little  interest. 

In  the  determination  of  sex  by  external  observation, 
we  first  look  at  the  ruff.  If  found  with  a  metallic  lustre, 
reflecting  green  or  blue  tints  in  the  sunlight,  we  have  an 
adult  male;  otherwise,  a  female  or  a  young  male. 

The  specimen  we  will  describe  has  a  brownish-black 
ruff,  without  lustre,  and  has  been  taken  in  December. 
We  must  now  ascertain  the  difference  between  the  adult 
and  immature  bird.  We  examine  the  feathers,  especially 
on  the  back  and  sides,  and  find  that  the  brown  on  the 
tip  of  each  shades  into  the  lighter  color  instead  of  having 
sharply  defined  edges. 

It  indicates  a  young  bird;  but  we  go  on,  and  find  the 
following  additional  evidence:  A  large  feather,  pulled 
from  the  wing;,  is  half-filled  with  half-dried  blood  or 


THE  HUFFED  GROUSE.  107 

other  liquid;  the  feet,  bill,  and  end  of  breast-bone  are 
softer  than  those  of  maturity,  and  all  the  feathers,  espe- 
cially the  large  ones,  are  soft  and  easily  bent.  Unfortu- 
nately, we  have  an  immature  bird  which  must  be  dissected; 
still,  as  it  is  so  nearly  grown,  we  will  measure  and  weigh 
it,  though  the  results  may  be  confusing.  The  weight  is 
18|  ounces — scarcely  decisive,  for  the  adult  female  weighs 
from  18  to  22,  and  the  male  from  21  to  25,  or  possibly 
more. 

We  find  the  tail  measures,  from  the  point  of  the 
"pope's  nose"  to  end  of  central  feathers,  5  inches.  We 
probably  have  a  hen,  as  the  adult  measures  from  4£  to  5|, 
the  male  from  6  to  7. 

The  adult  female  measures,  in  extreme  length,  from 
lo£  to  17f  inches,  the  male  from  17|  to  20.  Our  specimen 
shows,  under  the  tape-line,  16f.  If  mature,  this  would 
be  decisive,  but  now  it  is  a  trifle  confusing. 

The  final  measurement,  the  stretch  of  wings,  is  found 
to  be  21£  inches,  'which  proves  nothing,  though  from  the 
fact  that  wre  believed  we  had  a  nearly  grown  bird,  the 
measurements  indicate  a  hen. 

We  open  the  body,  and  there,  resting  upon  the  kid- 
neys, is  a  small,  whitish,  granular  object — the  ovary  of 
the  female. 

There  is  one  more  test,  useful  to  breeders.  Just  over 
the  eye  of  the  male,  and  concealed  by  short  feathers,  will 
be  found  an  orange-tinted  spot,  bright  in  the  spring  and 
faint  or  lacking  at  other  seasons. 

The  color  of  plumage  is  not  a  certain  test,  though  I 
believe  the  females,  and  all  young,  are  a  shade  the  darker. 

Quite  a  difference  of  opinion  exists  as  to  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  break  in  the  black  terminal  tail-band  of 
some  specimens.  My  unsatisfactory  study  of  this  pecul- 
iarity scarcely  warrants  an  assertion,  although  I  will 
hazard  the  opinion  that  it  is  not  found  in  birds  three  or 


108  r PI  AND   SHOOTING. 

four  years  old.  Mr.  Battelle  also  thinks  the  brown  in  the 
ruff  becomes  dead  black  with  age. 

If  these  surmises  are  found  to  be  correct,  it  would 
seem  that  the  bird  does  not  reach  perfection  until  at 
least  three  years  of  age. 

The  slight  foundation  for  my  opinion  regarding  the 
broken  terminal  band,  reminds  me  of  a  great  discovery 
once  made  by  two  young  mining  friends,  whom  we  will 
call  "Bill"  and  "Tom."  They  had  sunk  a  shaft  125 
feet  deep,  and  had  been  rewarded  with  seventy  feet  of 
water. 

The  easiest  way  to  get  it  out  was  the  question. 

After  a  day  of  profound  thought.  Bill  startled  his 
companion  by  remarking:  "  Tom,  we  will  buy  300  feet  of 
hose,  and  siphon  that  water  out." 

"  That's  what  we  will,"  said  Tom,  brightening  up. 

But  it  was  noticed  that  Tom  was  more  than  usually 
thoughtful  next  day.  Towrard  night  he  disheartened  his 
partner  by  saying:  "Bill,  ain't  it  almighty  queer  that 
nobody  ever  thought  of  that  before  '. ' ' 

Whoever  hunts  this  grouse  on  strange  ground,  does 
so  at  a  disadvantage.  This  is  one  reason  why  the  country 
boy,  with  the  ' '  bucking ' '  musket,  is  often  as  successful 
as  the  noted  wing-shot  from  the  city.  The  boy  may  not 
know  why  birds  are  found  at  this  or  that  particular  spot 
at  7  o'clock  on  a  bright  September  morning,  or  why  they 
are  found  at  another  place  at  noon  on  a  stormy  December 
day;  but  he  knowrs  where  they  will  probably  be  found, 
and  that  when  flushed  they  will  fly  to  another  place  well 
known  to  him. 

The  skillful  and  observant  hunter  knows  why  it  is, 
but  his  knowledge  of  their  habits  often  fails  to  reveal 
their  whereabouts,  as  we  shall  see. 

He  steps  from  the  "8.30  a.  m.  train,"  at  a  small  sta- 
tion, on  November  15th.  He  has  no  dog.  The  air  is 


THE  RUFFED   GROUSE.  109 

cold,  and  there  are  signs  of  a  storm.  The  hunter  looks 
about  him,  and  asks  a  boy  the  best  place  for  partridges. 
"There's  lots  of  'em  over  east,"  the  boy  says.  "Over 
east"  the  country  is  swampy,  and  appears  to  be  covered 
with  alders  and  tamaracks.  "That  might  be  all  right  in 
the  winter,"  thinks  the  wise  man. 

lie  turns  to  the  west.  It  is  hilly,  and  dotted  with 
both  evergreen  and  deciduous  patches.  He  smiles,  and 
says,  mentally:  ''Ah!  we  shall  find  them  there;  that  boy 
can't  fool  me'."  He  enters  a  forty-acre  tract  of  compar- 
atively open  woods,  in  the  center  of  which  he  sees  a 
thicket.  It  is  on  high  ground,  contains  a  big  pine-tree,  a 
moss-covered  drumming-log,  and  is  bordered  on  one  side 
with  beech-trees. 

"  Just  the  place  for  them!"  exclaims  the  sportsman; 
"and,"  reflectively,  " it's  a  little  cool  this  morning,  and 
they  may  be  there  yet." 

But  they  are  not  there;  they  have  been  gone  nearly 
an  hour,  and  are  searched  for  in  vain  upon  the  beech- 
ridge.  It  is  finally  noticed  that  the  beech-trees  are 
unfruitful,  and  the  keen  hunter  turns  to  the  left,  where 
he  sees  a  patch  of  scrub-oaks.  He  does  not  know  that  100 
yards  to  the  right,  on  lower  and  more  open  ground,  stand 
two  thorn-apple  trees,  which  produce  nearly  all  the  bird- 
food  upon  this  tract,  and  that  a  dozen  grouse  are  squatted 
there,  watching  him  in  mingled  wonder  and  alarm.  Had 
our  friend  a  capable  dog,  he  would  have  found  these 
birds,  as  the  inclination  to  follow  the  nearly  cold  trail 
would  have  been  humored,  whereas  the  tyro  would  have 
prevented  the  quartering  of  apparently  barren  ground. 

An  hour  later,  the  best  of  men  and  dogs  would  have 
missed  this  covey. 

How  about  the  boy  with  the  musket;  would  lie  have 
missed  it' 

Oh,  no;  he  would  have  struck  straight  for  the  thicket, 


110  TPLAXD    SHOOTING. 

and  then  for  the  thorn-apple  trees,  simply  because  he  had 
flushed  "pattridges  "  from  each  place  half  a  dozen  times. 

Our  imaginary  hero  crosses  a  field,  then  passes 
through  another  piece  of  woods  which  offers  no  especial 
inducements  to  the  grouse  for  a  home.  The  ground  is 
nearly  level;  there  are  no  thickets,  no  fallen  trees,  and 
there  is  apparently  no  food;  yet  our  friend  has  missed 
a  couple  of  birds,  which  lay  on  a  little  wintergreen- 
covered  knoll  that  he  knew  nothing  of.  He  next  enters 
a  hilly  section  traversed  by  a  creek.  Half-way  up  a  hill 
he  notices  a  small  bushy  depression,  or  bench.  He  judges 
the  place  to  be  wet,  and  knowing  that  the  bird  he  seeks 
drinks  but  seldom  at  this  season,  is  inclined  to  pass  on. 
Still,  he  hesitates,  for  a  little  earlier  in  the  year  he  would 
go  straight  to  what  is  a  favorite  haunt.  Then  he  thinks 
the  bushes  may  be  haws,  and  moves  in  that  direction. 
His  conjecture  is  right. 

Out  of  eight  birds  flushed,  he  gets  two  with  three 
shots. 

Knowing  the  habit  of  this  grouse  to  flV  toward  the 
base  of  a  hill  when  flushed  high  up  on  its  side,  our  sports- 
man had  approached  from  the  side,  thereby  giving  his 
game  a  chance  to  follow  its  inclination,  and  being 
rewarded  with  side-shots  on  fairly  opeii  ground. 

Xear  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  four  of  the  birds  turn 
sharply  to  the  left,  and  settle  in  some  bushes  near  the 
creek.  The  other  two  cross  the  stream,  and  stop  near  a 
large  log.  The  four  will  probabl y  fly  up  and  across  the 
hill,  if  approached  from  any  except  the  up-hill  direction; 
the  other  two  are  uncertain,  or  will  probably  fly  straight 
away. 

The  same  tactics  are  followed  as  before,  and  one  of 
the  four  is  captured.  As  the  distance  to  the  top  of  the 
hill  is  about  100  yards,  the  hunter  correctly  divines 
that  the  three  will  be  found  just  over  the  top.  He  fol- 


THE    RUFFED    GROISK. 


Ill 


lows,  shoots  twice  at  one  bird,  and  misses.  A  cold  wind 
now  arises,  accompanied  by  snow.  The  sportsman  un- 
wisely leaves  the  birds  he  has  marked  down,  thinking 
to  find  more  in  his  circuitous  tramp  to  the  station.  He 


RUFFED  GROUSE. 

no  longer  follows  the  ridges.  The  birds  have  done  feed- 
ing, and  are  to  be  found  out  of  the  wind,  protected  from 
the  snow  by  logs  or  oak-tops.  Look  as  carefully  as  he 
may,  he  is  unable  to  start  a  bird.  He  notes  the  scarcity 
of  bird-food,  and  thinks  perhaps  the  boy  was  right;  he 
will  work  around  east  of  the  station,  and  see. 


112  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

But  first  he  will  lunch.  From  one  of  his  capacious 
pockets,  he  produces  two  sandwiches  and  a  small  flask 
of  coffee.  Experience  has  taught  him  that  coffee  on  a 
cold  day  is  more  beneficial  than  brandy;  and  though 
he  has  Jieard  that  only  "  dudes  "  carry  lunch,  he  believes 
that  all  who  start  for  a  day's  shooting  without  breakfast 
or  lunch,  because  Daniel  Boone  or  Davy  Crockett  may 
have  done  so,  will  eventually  repent,  and  wish  they  had 
repented  sooner. 

Lunch  disposed  of,  our  hero  circles  to  the  right,  and 
crosses  the  railroad.  Ordinarily,  he  would  scour  the 
thickets  parallel  with  the  track,  for  birds  which  had 
been  in  search  of  gravel,  and  had  retired  to  pass  in  quiet 
the  midday  hours;  but  on  account  of  the  storm,  he 
believes  they  have  omitted  this  part  of  the  programme, 
and  are  to  be  found  sheltered  nearer  their  food  ware- 
houses. He  finally  reaches  the  low-lying  tract  east  of 
the  station.  His  only  consolation  is  the  correctness  of 
his  prediction  that  it  would  prove  barren.  But  there  is 
a  hill  for  every  valley,  and,  beyond  and  to  the  right,  he 
sees  the  heavily  wooded  ground  rising,  and  then  evi- 
dently descending  to  a  still  lower  valley. 

The  snow  ceases  as  he  reaches  the  summit.  It  is 
doubtful  about  the  birds  coming  out  to  feed  again,  and 
our  friend  knows  it;  he  will  therefore  look  for  their 
hiding-places.  He  glances  down  the  hill,  which  faces 
the  south,  and  knows  too  late  that  he  has  found  the  fall 
and  winter  home  of  the  ruffed  grouse.  To  the  left,  the 
side-hill  is  dotted  with  blackberry  thickets  and  scattering 
pines.  At  the  bottom,  there  are  tangled  coverts  and  grape- 
vines, while  beyond  these  are  cedars,  alders,  and  a  brook. 
To  the  right  are  deciduous  trees,  and  hazel,  thorn,  and 
crab-apple  clumps.  Many  of  the  large  trees  have  been 
cut  down,  leaving  dead  tops  in  plenty. 

"I'll  bet  I  can  kill  five  birds  yet  to-night,"  says  our 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE.  113 

city  friend;  then  lie  looks  at  liis  watch,  only  to  find  that 
he  has  just  time  enough  to  reach  the  station  before  the 
train.  He  will  come  again,  however,  when  his  dog  has 
been  returned  from  the  country;  but  to-day — he  wishes 
someone  would  kick  him  for  having  doubted  the  boy's 

word. 

To  give  the  beginner  an  insight  into  the  manner  of 
hunting  this  bird  in  September,  I  will  briefly  describe 
a  hunt  once  taken  by  two  "Michiganders,"  Jim,  a 
farmer,  and  Ben,  my  office  mate. 

Jim  lived  a  mile  out  of  town.  At  the  time  of  the 
hunt  I  shall  describe,  he  had  just  received  "the  best  gun 
in  the  world,"  and  naturally  was  anxious  to  see  how  it 
would  behave  on  state  occasions. 

Ben  worked  steadily  from  morning  till  night  at  long 
columns*  of  figures.  In  July  and  August,  Jim  would 
occasionally  drop  in  and  regale  him  with  stories  of 
newly  found  broods,  or  the  wonderful  peformances  of  his 
dog  Don,  until,  in  moments  of  abstraction,  each  figure 
seemed  a  full-fledged  grouse,  which  would  in  turn  be 
aimed  at  with  the  pen.  Or,  perhaps,  when  others  were 
taking  their  vacations,  he  would  look  wearily  across  the 
alley  at  the  heated  brick  walls,  which  would  often  open 
under  his  dreamy  gaze,  and  reveal  sylvan  retreats  in  the 
Eagle  Water  region,  or  a  white  tent  near  a  trout-stream, 
in  some  little  park  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 

"  Where  a  vision  fell,  solemn  and  sweet." 

Then  the  vision  would  vanish,  and  he  would  say: 
"Xot  for  me,  not  for  me;"  then,  with  his  accustomed 
energy:  "Only  wait  till  the  15th,  and  I'll  show  Jim  that 
it  isn't  all  in  the  gun." 

But  the  loth  of  September  found  Ben  at  his  desk. 
Two  days  later,  just  as  he  had  decided  himself  at  liberty, 
the  door  was  vigorously  opened,  and  Jim  spoke  in  his 
irresistible  way:  "I. was  up  west  yesterday,  and  found 


114  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

five  or  six  nice  bunches,  and  by  to-morrow  they'll  be 
back  where  I  found  'em;  can't  you  go?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Ben,  looking  serious,  and 
shaking  his  head;  "it  all  depends  on  one  thing,  and  that 
rests  altogether  with  you." 

"How  so,"  returned  Jim,  thinking  some  great  obsta- 
cle in  the  way.  "You  know,  Ben,  I'll  do  anything  or 
everything  to  help  you  get  away." 

"  Well,  its  just  like  this.  I  can't  go  unless  you  will 
agree  to— to — to  have  that  old  coffee-pot  warm  at  5 
o' clock  to-morrow  morning." 

We  will  pass  by  the  undignified  performance  that 
followed,  and  meet  our  heroes  again  as  they  cross  the 
field  toward  the  woods  at  sunrise  next  morning. 

The  energetic,  but  dignified,  old  setter  is  trotting 
straight  for  the  woods — and  that  reminds  me  thaf  Ben  and 
Jim  had  decided,  long  before,  that  one  dog,  well  broken, 
suited  their  purpose  better  than  two,  or  more,  equally 
good;  also  that  partners  were  as  necessary  in  grouse- 
shooting  as  in  whist,  and  that  the  methods  were  identi- 
cal, i.  e.,  only  he  won  who  remembered  that  his  partner 
had  rights  which  the  other  was  bound  to  respect,  and 
that  nothing  was  gained  by  getting  excited  or  in  a 
hurry.  Through  a  good-natured  rivalry,  which  existed 
for  years,  they  never  lost  sight  of  these  points,  nor  that 
the  observance  of  these  laws  was  responsible  for  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  friendship. 

They  also  knew  it  to  be  safer  and  more  companionable 
to  keep  together,  and  tliat  with  one  strong  dog  enough 
ground  could  be  covered  between  sunrise  and  sunset  to 
satisfy  anyone  except  a  professional  pedestrian. 

Each  had  provided  himself  with  forty  carefully  loaded 
shells,  hoping,  as  usual,  that  the  events  of  the  day  might 
be  recorded  in  red  letters.  As  they  marched  buoyantly 
along,  Ben  asked:  "  Where  shall  we  go  first,  Jimf 


THE  RUFFED   GROUSE.  115 

"  Well,"  said  Jim,  "  I've  got  it  all  laid  out.  We  will 
leave  those  coveys  I  found  the  other  day  until  the  middle 
of  the  forenoon  and  afternoon,  because  that  was  the  time 
I  found  'em;  this  morning  we  will  look  along  that  bridle- 
trail  of  Mathias'  for  birds  that  come  after  gravel  and 
horse-droppings,  and  then  cross  over  and  look  among  the 
blackberry-bushes  along  the  railroad.  Then  we'll  take 
in  three  or  four  coveys  I  know  of,  and,  about  noon,  get 
around  to  the  grape-vines  by  the  creek,  where  they're 
likely  to  come  to  drink  to-day;  then  we'll  take  in  the 
others  I  found,  and,  along  toward  night,  get  down  into 
Secord's  blackberry  and  huckleberry  patch.  Do  you 
know  any  better  scheme?" 

"  No,"  replied  Ben;  "that's  about  the  route  we  made 
our  record  on  last  year.  By  the  way,  wasn't  I  a  couple 
of  birds  ahead  that  day?" 

"  Not  much!  we  came  out  even;  but  I'll  see  it  don't 
happen  again.  I  want  to  show  you  to-day  that  that  old 
crow-bar  is  'way  behind  the  times." 

Ben  replied  by  touching  his  companion's  shoulder, 
and  pointing  to  Don,  who  had  suddenly  stiffened  to  a 
point  in  the  open  woods  they  had  just  entered.  Then, 
in  a  low  voice:  "  I  believe  that's  a  stray  bird,  and  he  will 
make  for  that  raspberry-patch  in  the  corner.  You  go 
to  the  right,  and  I'll  walk  up  on  the  left  till  I  flush 
him." 

There  were  two  reports  close  together,  a  delightful 
thud,  and  two  small  feathers  drifted  earthward. 

"Whose  was  that?"  asked  Ben,  smiling  in  a  way 
intended  to  be  both  consoling  and  decisive. 

"Guess  I'll  have  to  give  that  to  the  crow-bar.  I 
pulled  a  second  too  soon,  and  caught  that  sapling  out 
yonder,"  said  Jim,  with  his  usual  good-nature. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  two  sportsmen  indulged  in  a 
very  expressive  pantomime,  while  old  Don  was  cautiously 


116  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

locating  the  nearest  bird  of  a  scattered  covey,  on  com- 
paratively open  ground. 

As  a  show  of  humility  seemed  proper,  in  view  of  his 
late  success,  Ben  asked:  "  Where  will  these  go,  Jimf 

"Probably  straight  away,"  came  the  answer;  "  there's 
plenty  of  room  and  cover,  so  you  take  one  side,  and  I 
will  the  other;  but  keep  your  eyes  open,  for  we  are  likely 
to  raise  one  anywhere." 

Some  poor  shooting  followed.  Seven  shots  brought 
but  three  birds  to  bag.  while  the  next  covey  found  gave 
eight  shots,  in  three  flushings,  and  only  two  birds.  It 
was  now  9  o'clock.  One  of  Jim's  located  coveys,  being  in 
adjoining  woods,  was  sought  for,  but  failed  to  materialize. 

"Well,"  said  Jim,  in  response  to  another  premature 
outburst  of  humility,  "they  probably  haven't  settled 
yet  for  the  day,  for  I  don't  believe  they've  been  dis- 
turbed, so  we' 11  take  a  bee-line  for  their  nearest  food,  and 
save  some  of  'em  the  trouble  of  walking  clear  home." 

"Ah!  great  head — that  of  yours,  Jim.  Ever  have  it 
examined — for  bugs?" 

"Never  did,"  said  Jim,  laconically;  "but  you'll  bej 
scratching  yours  about  4  o'  clock,  and  wondering  how  you 
are  three  behind  instead  of  two  ahead." 

And  so  it  proved. 

The  prophecy  regarding  the  absent  covey  also  came 
true,  and  resulted  in  the  bagging  of  four  grouse.  Two 
were  taken  from  a  covey  found  along  the  creek  at  noon, 
seven  from  two  early  afternoon  coveys,  and  three  from 
the  huckleberry -patch  at  the  end  of  their  circuit. 

Just  as  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  making 
rubies  of  the  glass  in  Jim's  chamber  window,  the  two 
tired  sportsmen  emerged  from  the  woods  back  of  the 
house. 

"That  ain't  much  of  a  house,"  said  Jim,  apologetic- 
ally, pointing  at  the  modest  little  cottage,  with  its  flam- 


THE   RUFFED   GROUSE. 


117 


ing  carbuncle  near  the  roof;  "but  when  I  am  tired  and 
hungry,  and  old  Sol  paints  it  up  in  that  style,  it  looks 
better  to  me  than  any  I  know  of." 

"  Very  true,  Jim;  that  is  the  sentiment  of  the  patriot 
and  statesman.  Always  feel  that  way  toward  the  old 
place,  and  perhaps — well,  perhaps  I'll  let  you  beat  me 
again  sometime." 

"I'm  always  ready  to  have  you  try,"  said  Jim,  as 
they  parted  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  each  hoping  the 
opportunity  might  soon  come. 


INLAND  DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  THE  UNITED 
STATES. 


BY  JOHN  G.  SMITH, 
President  of  the  Iowa  State  Sportsmen's  Association. 


wild  duck  may  be  found  in  almost 
every  part  of  the  United  States; 
and  during  their  flights  from 
the  South  to  the  North  and 
from  the  North  to  the  South, 
sportsmen,  and  especially  the  sports- 
men who  are  fond  of  shooting  ducks,  think 
of  little  else,  or  care  for  little  else,  but  their  guns 
and  the  ducks. 
Many  of  the  wild  ducks  leave  the  South  sometime 
in  the  latter  part  of  February  or  the  first  part  of 
March.  Some  of  the  varieties  stay  there  till  April.  If 
the  season  is  quite  early,  the  mallards  will  work  their 
way  slowly  north,  and  sometimes  arrive  in  Northern  Iowa 
in  February.  Some  years  ago  I  killed  six  mallard-ducks 
on  the  Des  Moines  River,  in  Kossuth  County,  Iowa,  the 
6th  of  February.  Usually  their  flight  is  in  the  month  of 
March. 

I  do  not  think  the  mallard-ducks  generally  make 
very  long  flights.  They  will  stop  where  there  are  many 
sloughs.  They  do  not  care  to  be  in  the  large  lakes,  as 
there  is  no  food  for  them  in  those  places;  but  in  the 
sloughs  and  cane-brakes,  where  the  water  is  shallow,  and 
where  the  wild  grass  roots  are  beginning  to  sprout,  the 
mallard-ducks  find  their  home.  They  like  it  very  much 

(119) 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


if  they  are  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  large  corn-field, 
where  they  can  go  morning  and  evening  for  breakfast 
and  supper,  and  will  often  go  many  miles  to  feed  in 
Them. 

The  green-wing  teal  leaves  the  South  about  the  same 
time  as  the  mallard,  or  soon  after.  They  make  short 
nights,  dropping  down  often  to  feed  in  the  sloughs. 

Next  following  the 
green-wing  teal,  come 
the  pin-tails,  dusky- 
ducks,  plain  and  hood- 
ed mergansers,  blue- 
bills,  American  widg- 
eons, butter-balls,  small 
gray  ducks,  scaup- 
ducks,  golden -eyes,  red- 
heads, canvas-backs, 
ruddy-ducks,  and 
wood-ducks;  and,  last 
of  all,  the  blue- wing 
teal  leave  the  South 
about  the  1st  of  April 
for  their  northern 
haunts.  Their  nights 
are  short,  and  made 
mostly  in  the  night. 
They  feed  in  the  sloughs  and  small  streams  on  their  way 
north,  and  generally  arrive  at  their  breeding-grounds  the 
last  of  April  or  the  first  of  May. 

The  mergansers,  blue-bills,  red-heads,  canvas-backs, 
butter-balls,  and  ruddy-ducks  usually  leave  the  South  in 
tMarch. 

They  make  long  nights  and  their  passage  from  south 
to  north  is  made  in  a  very  short  time.  I  do  not  think 
they  stop  more  than  two  or  three  times  on  the  way  to 


INLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  121 

their  "breeding-grounds."  On  their  way  north  they 
drop  into  the  large  lakes  and  rivers  to  feed.  These  may 
be  classed  as  the  inland  deep-water  ducks.  Their  flight 
is  very  rapid,  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  they  often  fly 
more  than  ninety  miles  an  hour. 

The  pin-tails,  American  widgeons,  small  gray  ducks, 
golden-eyes,  and  broad-bills  mix  with  the  mallards,  teal, 
and  "deep-water  ducks,"  and  may  be  found  in  most  of 
the  sloughs  and  "  inland  waters." 

The  beautiful  wood-duck  is  more  of  a  family  by  itself. 
Their  breeding-grounds  may  be  found,  wherever  there  is 
timber  along  a  stream,  all  the  way  from  the  South  to 
British  America.  Their  flight  is  made  in  pairs,  and  always 
at  night.  It  is  not  rapid,  and  they  do  not  fly  far  without 
dropping  down  to  feed. 

The  dusky-duck  is  •  seldom  found  in  the  West,  and  is 
called  by  Western  gunners  the  "black  mallard."  Its 
flight  and  feed  are  much  the  same  as  the  mallards,  and 
when  killed  in  the  West  is  most  always  found  with  the 
mallards. 

The  great  breeding-grounds  for  wild  ducks  are  to  be 
found  in  British  America,  although  many  thousands  of 
them  breed  in  the  United  States.  Minnesota,  North  and 
South  Dakota,  Northern  Iowa,  Northern  Illinois,  North- 
ern Indiana,  Michigan,  and  parts  of  Wisconsin  furnish 
the  chief  breeding-grounds  in  the  United  States,  although 
some  wild  ducks  breed  in  almost  every  State.  I  recollect, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  a  gentleman  found  a  brood  of  blue- 
wing  teal  within  five  miles  of  Boston.  .  I  think  there 
were  ten  of  the  young  ones.  Wood-ducks,  dusky-ducks, 
and  some  others  breed  in  many  of  the  swamps  in  New 
England. 

All  of  the  wild  ducks  that  breed  are  mated  when  they 
come  north,  and  they  commence  work  on  their  nests 
almost  as  soon  as  they  arrive  at  their  breeding-grounds. 


122  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

I  think  they  use  the  same  breeding-grounds  year  after 
year,  unless  they  are  very  much  disturbed. 

\Vild  ducks  make  their  nests  on  the  musk-rat  houses, 
or  in  the  grass  not  far  from  the  small  sloughs,  and,  in  a 
country  where  they  are  not  disturbed,  build  their  nests 
oftentimes  quite  close  together. 

The  female  lays  from  ten  to  fifteen  eggs,  and  when 
the  ducks  are  not  disturbed,  every  egg  is  sure  to  hatch. 
As  soon  as  the  young  ducks  are  out  of  the  eggs,  the 
mother  takes  them  to  the  water,  and  in  about  ten  weeks 
they  are  able  to  fly  a  little. 

After  the  wild  ducks  reach  their  breeding-grounds, 
they  are  very  tame,  and  care  but  little  for  man.  They 
seem  to  know  that  any  man  that  is  a  man  will  not 
trouble  them  when  breeding.  Many  times  I  have  passed 
within  six  feet  of  a  mallard-duck  on  her  nest,  and  she 
would  not  move. 

The  mallard  is  generally  first  of  the  wild  ducks  to 
bring  forth  its  young.  The  time,  in  most  seasons,  is  about 
the  middle  of  May.  I  do  not  think  that  the  young  mal- 
lard-ducks, teal,  broad-bills,  gray  ducks,  and  pin-tails 
develop  as  quickly  as  the  young  deep-water  ducks, 
such  as  the  sheldrake,  blue-bills,  red-heads,  canvas- 
backs,  scaup-ducks,  butter-balls,  golden-eyes,  and  ruddy- 
ducks,  all  of  which  go  north  to  breed. 

The  food  of  the  mallards  consists  of  young  grass  and 
roots,  except  in  the  fall  and  spring,  when  they  are  in 
the  neighborhood  of  corn  or  grain  fields,  and  when  the 
wild  rice  is  ripe,  and  falls  on  the  water.  They  are  very 
fond  of  wild  rice,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  all  wild  ducks 
will  go  long  distances  to  find  a  rice-pond. 

As  soon  as  the  young  mallards  can  fly  well,  the  old 
birds  take  them  to  the  rice-ponds  in  the  North,  where 
they  remain  till  they  commence  their  flight  south.  The 
habits  of  all  the  shoal-water  ducks  are  much  the  same  as 


IXLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  123 

those   of   the  mallards,  except  that  they  seldom  go  to 
the  corn  or  grain  fields  for  feed. 

Neither  the  red-heads  nor  any  of  the  deep-water 
ducks  ever  leave  the  water  to  feed;  yet  they  often  feed 
close  to  the  shore,  where  the  water  is  not  deep.  They  are 
very  fond  of  being  in  the  lakes  where  the  wild  celery 
grows,  and  where  the  mud-hens  are  so  plentiful  that  they 
seem  to  be  in  one  another's  way.  Mud-hens  are  great 
feeders,  and  wherever  they  are  very  numerous,  there  is 
most  sure  to  be  good  duck -shooting. 

The  best  places  to  hunt  mallard-ducks  are  in  the  rice- 
marshes,  or,  "later  in  the  season,  after  the  rice  is  gone 
and  the  farmers  have  gathered  their  corn,"  in  the  large 
corn-fields  which  are  to  be  found  all  over  the  West.  If, 
about  the  15th  or  20th  of  September,  the  hunter  can  find 
a  large  rice-marsh,  or,  what  is  better,  several  of  them 
connected,  where  there  is  a  good  crop  of  rice,  he  is  sure 
to  have  fine  shooting.  The  mallards  are  easily  killed  at 
that  time,  and  are  apt  to  be  in  fine  condition.  The 
hunter  can  station  himself  between  two  of  the  marshes, 
or  ponds,  and  have  someone  go  around  and  stir  up  the 
ducks.  He  will  have  many  good  shots  at  other  ducks 
besides  mallards,  as  most  of  the  wild  ducks  are  fond  of 
wild  rice.  The  blue- wing  tea-l  are  very  fond  of  it,  and 
may  be  found  in  the  rice-marshes  in  large  numbers. 

The  hunter  will  need  a  good  retrieving  dog,  one  that 
will  keep  a  sharp  lookout,  as  most  of  the  ducks  killed 
will  drop  in  the  long  rushes  and  grass.  After  the  hunter, 
or,  if  there  are  two  or  three  shooting  together,  after 
each  has  stationed  himself,  the  one  who  is  to  stir  up  the 
ducks  starts  out  among  the  marshes. 

Now  the  hunter  must  keep  his  eyes  about  him,  for  he 
does  not  know  from  which  direction  the  ducks  will  come. 
When  he  is  on  the  lookout,  here  comes  a  pair  of  mallards. 
They  do  not  fly  very  fast,  as  they  want  to  drop  down  to 


124  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

feed.  The  hunter  is  in  a  good  cover  of  long  grass.  The 
frost  has  not  touched  it  yet.  He  can  let  the  ducks  come 
quite  close  to  him.  I  need  not  give  the  old  duck-shooter 
any  instructions — he  has  "been  there"  too  many  times; 
but  the  novice  wants  to  be  careful,  and  not  move  too 
quickly.  Let  the  first  duck  get  nearly  over  you.  Bring 
the  gun  quickly  to  your  shoulder,  glance  along  the 
barrels,  and  if  the  duck  is  not  more  than  twenty-five 
to  thirty  yards  away,  lead  him  from  six  inches  to  one 
foot;  touch  the  trigger,  and,  as  soon  as  possible,  take 
aim  at  the  other  duck.  It  will,  when  you  shoot  the  first 
one,  go  towering  up  into  the  air,  and  you  can  shoot 
directly  at  it.  If  you  have  held  your  gun  as  I  have  told 
you,  you  have  killed  both  birds.  Let  the  dog  go  after 
them  as  quickly  as  possible,  as  there  may  be  more  ducks 
flying  toward  you.  When  you  have  shot  at  the  first 
duck,  never  stop  to  see  whether  you  have  killed  it  or  not,  but 
shoot  directly  at  the  other  duck.  Load  your  gun  at  once, 
and  be  on  the  lookout  for  more  birds.  Your  dog  having 
retrieved  the  birds,  make  him  lie  down  beside  you.  You 
soon  see  another  bunch  of  ducks  coming.  Keep  down. 
They  look  quite  close.  You  think  you  will  shoot.  You 
bring  your  gun  to  your  shoulder.  The  ducks  go  towering 
up.  You  shoot,  but  discover  you  have  shot  too  far. 
Ducks  look  large  when  coming  directly  toward  one.  In  a 
wild  rice  marsh  most  of  the  ducks  will  come  near  enough 
if  you  will  let  them. 

While  you  are  mourning  over  your  bad  judgment  in 
shooting  too  quickly,  your  companions  start  up  a  large 
flock  of  blue-wing  teal  from  the  marsh  below  you.  They 
shoot,  and  on  the  birds  come  toward  you,  at  the  rate  of 
eighty  or  ninety  miles  an  hour.  They  are  just  above  the 
tops  of  the  reeds.  How  they  cTo  come!  Now  be  careful! 
When  they  are  close  enough,  shoot  at  the  first  bird,  and 
lead  it  three  or  four  feet.  You  will  be  surprised  to  see 


INLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  125 

some  of  the  last  birds  of  the  flock  fall.  Select  one,  and 
shoot  the  second  barrel  as  quickly  as  you  can,  or  the 
birds  will  be  out  of  range. 

Mallards  and  teal  will  seldom  leave  a  rice-marsh  so 
long  as  there  is  feed.  Once,  in  company  with  my  brother 
and  two  gentlemen  from  New  York,  I  shot  mallard-ducks 
and  teal  in  the  rice-marshes  at  the  foot  of  Bancroft  Lake, 
in  Northern  Iowa,  three  days,  and  the  birds  were  just  as 
plentiful  when  we  left  as  when  we  arrived.  They  were 
there  by  thousands,  and  it  was  impossible  to  drive  them 
away.  I  believe  I  could  have  killed  1,000  ducks  in  ten 
days. 

If  the  hunter  likes  to  walk,  he  can  have  quite  a  good 
deal  of  sport  jumping  ducks  from  the  small  sloughs  and 
ponds.  In  the  month  of  September,  before  the  grass  is 
dead,  the  hunter  can  get  close  to  the  ducks,  and,  when 
they  jump,  he  must  shoot  directly  at  them.  They  are 
very  easy  to  kill  at  that  time,  as  they  are  almost  a  stand- 
ing mark. 

Oftentimes,  in  the  month  of  October,  splendid  mal- 
lard-duck shooting  may  be  had  in  the  buckwheat-fields. 
Mallard-ducks  are  very  fond  of  buckwheat,  and  will  fly 
long  distances,  morning  and  evening,  to  feed  on  the  new- 
grown  grain.  If  you  know  where  there  is  a  buckwheat- 
field,  and  the  mallards  have  begun  to  feed  there,  you  will 
have  to  be  on  hand  at  the  field  before  day-break,  for 
mallards  are  early  birds.  I  have  often  known  them  to 
come  to  a  buckwheat-field  when  it  was  so  dark  that  I 
could  not  see  them  more  than  fifteen  yards  away.  You 
will  most  likely  be  able  to  find  cover  near  the  edge  of  the 
field;  but  if  you  can  not  find  cover,  you  will  have  to 
bring  a  spade  along  and  dig  a  hole,  which  will  take  you 
but  a  few  moments.  Spread  the  soil  around,  and  cover 
it  over  with  some  old  straw,  so  that  the  ducks  will  not 
notice  the  fresh  earth.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  be  ready 


126  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

when  the  ducks  come.  Many  good  shots  are  lost  by  the 
hunters  not  being  on  hand  when  the  first  birds  come  to 
the  field. 

Now  you  have  the  hole  ready,  throw  a  little  straw 
into  the  bottom,  so  that  you  will  not  have  to  stand  in  the 
dirt.  Get  into  the  hole,  and  keep  a  good  lookout,  as, 
early  in  the  morning,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  from  which 
direction  the  ducks  will  come.  They  will  be  likely  to 
come  in  quite  large  flocks,  and  are  apt  to  bunch  quite 
close  to  you.  Now,  mark!  there  is  a  bunch.  They  are 
not  more  than  five  or  six  yards  high.  Have  your  gun  to 
your  shoulder.  They  bunch  together.  Pour  both  barrels 
into  the  thick  bunch  as  quickly  as  possible.  Load 
quickly,  and  step  out  of  the  hole  and  gather  your  ducks. 
Take  your  gun  with  you,  as  you  may  have  another  shot 
before  you  find  all  the  dead  ducks. 

Just  at  day -break  the  ducks  are  so  eager  for  food  that 
they  will  not  notice  you.  Set  up  the  dead  ducks,  placing 
a  stick  in  the  ground  to  hold  their  heads  up.  Now  get 
back  into  the  hole  and  look  out  for  another  flock.  If  it 
should  happen  to  be  a  cloudy,  windy  morning,  your 
shooting  will  be  likely  to  last  till  10  or  11  o'clock;  but 
if  the  sun  shines,  it  will  be  over  before  9. 

About  the  time  the  sun  begins  to  show  itself,  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  a  few  Canada  geese.  They,  too,  are 
fond  of  buckwheat.  You  will,  of  course,  have  a  few  shells 
with  you  loaded  with  BBB  or  O  shot.  Hark!  "Honk, 
honk,  honk ! "  Now  get  down  close  in  the  hole;  change 
your  shells;  the  geese  will  soon  be  here.  Let  them  come 
within  twenty  yards  of  you  before  you  shoot.  Shoot 
directly  at  the  leader's  bill,  and  then  pull  at  the  next  one. 
You  have  shot  the  first  one  dead,  but  only  winged  the 
other  slightly.  He  flaps  the  other  wing,  and  calls.  Load 
quickly.  Keep  close.  The  other  geese  have  turned  to 
him.  Now  they  are  close  enough,  give  it  to  them,  and 


IXLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  127 

sit  back  in  the  hole  and  load  again.  They  want  to  come 
back  to  that  wounded  goose.  Here  they  come !  Make 
sure  of  your  shots,  as  this  will  probably  be  your  last 
chance  at  that  flock.  About  three  rounds  is  all  they  will 
stand.  I  have  many  times  killed  five  or  six  out  of  a  flock, 
when  they  came  to  a  field,  and  I  got  a  winged  goose  with 
the  first  shot.  Now  gather  up  your  birds,  and  look  out 
for  more  ducks. 

When,  the  flight  of  ducks  has  ceased,  gather  your 
birds,  but  be  sure  to  be  back  again  by  3  in  the  after- 
noon. 

As  soon  as  you  get  back  to  the  buckwheat-field  in  the 
afternoon,  go  at  once  to  the  hole  where  you  shot  in  the 
morning.  You  w^ill  not  have  to  wait  long  before  the  ducks 
come  to  feed.  You  will  have  to  be  very  careful  now,  as 
the  ducks  are  more  shy  than  in  the  morning,  and,  besides, 
many  of  them  have  heard  your  gun,  and  are  on  the  watch. 
Do  not  shoot  unless  you  are  sure  the  ducks  are  near 
enough,  as  long,  wild  shots  serve  only  to  frighten  the 
ducks  away.  You  will  be  likely  to  have  very  good  shoot- 
ing in  the  afternoon,  but  after  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  go  to 
that  field  for  about  ten  days.  By  xthat  time  the  ducks 
will  be  over  their  fright,  and  you  will  have  more  sport 
with  them. 

Shooting  mallard-ducks  in  corn-fields  is  great  sport. 
After  the  farmers  have  gathered  the  corn,  the  ducks  often 
come  to  the  fields  in  great  numbers.  There  is  always  a 
great  deal  of  corn  scattered  over  the  ground,  which  makes 
fine  feed  for  them.  When  once  they  get  a  taste  of  it,  thev 
will  feed  in  the  corn-fields,  morning  and  evening,  as  long 
as  they  stay  in  the  country.  If  they  are  shot  at  very 
much  in  one  field,  they  will  go  to  another.  They  are 
bound  to  have  corn  for  breakfast  and  supper. 

The  hunter  will  need  a  good  "retrieving  dog,"  as, 
when  he  shoots  his  ducks,  many  of  them  \\ill  drop 


128  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

among  the  corn-stalks,  and  it  is  almost  impossible  to  find 
them  without  the  aid  of  a  dog.  Nearly  every  winged 
bird  will  get  away. 

When  you  find  that  the  mallard-ducks  are  feeding  in 
the  corn-fields,  go  out  before  daylight  in  the  morning. 
You  will  not  need  a  blind,  as  you  can  get  among  the 
corn-stalks.  Your  shooting  will  be  about  the  same  as  at 
the  buckwheat-fields.  Should  the  day  be  a  cold  and 
rough  one,  and  should  there  be  plenty  of  mallards  in  the 
country,  your  shooting  may  last  all  day.  Be  sure  to 
have  plenty  of  shells  and  a  luncheon  with  you,  as  I  know 
of  nothing  so  provoking  as  to  be  where  there  are  plenty 
of  ducks,  and  get  out  of  shells. 

I  had  some  experience  of  that  kind  three  years  ago— 
the  day  after  Thanksgiving.  My  brother  and  I  went  to 
a  pond  early  in  the  morning,  when  the  ducks  had  gone 
out  to  the  corn-fields  to  feed.  All  the  ponds  in  the  coun- 
try except  this  one  were  frozen  over,  and  the  ducks 
came  there  for  water.  We  put  out  half  a  dozen  mallard 
decoys,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  our  light  duck-boat. 
Soon  the  ducks  began  to  return — two,  four,  five,  or  six  at 
a  time.  I  never  saw  such  mallard-shooting  before  or 
since.  In  two  hours  we  killed  over  100  splendid  mallard- 
ducks,  and  all  shot  on  the  wing  at  single  shots.  We  got 
out  of  shells,  were  ten  miles  from  home,  and  the  ducks 
were  coming  just  as  plentifully  as  ever.  At  that  time  I 
would  have  given  $10  for  another  100  shells.  We  had 
expected  to  have  thirty  or  forty  shots,  and  had  taken 
only  a  few  more  than  100  shells  with  us. 

Good  duck-shooting  may  be  had  in  streams  and  small 
lakes;  but  here  the  hunter  will  need  a  good  duck-boat. 
He  must,  in  order  to  be  successful,  have  a  boat  that  sets 
very  low  in  the  water,  or  one  large  enough  to  be  trimmed 
with  brush  and  dry  grass.  I  have  a  boat  that  I  like  very 
much  to  use  in  shallow  water,  or  where  the  grass  and 


(129) 


130  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

reeds  are  plentiful.  I  have  crossed  some  quite  large  lakes 
in  it  when  the  wind  was  high;  but  none  save  an  expert 
boatman  should  be  out  in  a  large  lake  when  the  waves 
are  running  high,  on  account  of  the  danger  of  running 
the  boat  under.  The  boat  is  all  decked  over,  except  the 
place  where  I  sit.  It  is  made  pointed  at  both  ends;  is 
thirteen  feet  long  and  thirty-two  inches  wide.  The  sides 
are  five  inches  high.  The  weight  of  this  boat  is  thirty- 
five  pounds,  and  it  will  run  well  in  four  inches  of  water. 
I  paddle  it  most  of  the  time  with  two  short  paddles,  but 
carry  a  long  one  with  me,  so  that  I  can  have  a  change  if 
I  have  a  long  distance  to  go.  When  I  am  in  this  boat, 
and  in  a  good  duck  neighborhood,  I  have  a  strong  line 
attached  to  each  paddle,  so  that  if  a  duck  starts  up  I  can 
drop  the  paddles  in  the  water,  and  not  be  in  danger  of 
losing  them. 

On  the  large  lakes  and  rivers  the  sportsman  will  need 
a  larger  boat.  It  should  be  large  enough  to  carry  two 
men  and  a  dog,  and  forty  or  fifty  decoys,  with  comfort. 
It  should  be  made  so  that  the  hunter  can  shoot  in  any 
direction  from  the  boat,  and  run  no  risk  of  upsetting  it. 
It  should  be  made  with  a  scull-hole,  so  that  when  the 
hunter  is  bearing  down  on  a  flock  of  ducks  in  open  water 
the  ducks  can  not  see  the  motion  of  the  oar.  Such  a 
boat  is  very  handy  when  the  hunter  discovers  the  ducks 
dropping  down  in  some  bay  where  he  can  get  good  cover 
and  put  out  his  decoys. 

I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  sport  by  taking  a  team, 
loading  on  my  large  duck-boat,  and  going  up  our  river 
ten  or  twelve  miles,  putting  the  boat  on  the  river,  trim- 
ming it  with  a  little  dry  grass,  and  floating  down.  The 
ducks  do  not  notice  one  until  within  range. 

By  many  duck-shooters,  shooting  over  decoys  is  con- 
sidered the  best  of  all  duck-shooting;  and  I  am  one  of 
those  who  think  it  is  fine  sport. 


INLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  131 

In  order  to  have  success  in  shooting  over  decoys,  the 
hunter  must  use  good  judgment  in  putting  out  his 
decoys.  Look  over  your  land  well  before  you  set  them 
out;  they  must  be  set  so  that  the  ducks  will  notice  them, 
and  at  the  same  time  not  be  scared  away  by  them.  Do 
not  place  them  too  close  together,  but  set  them  so  that 
they  will  show  well  from  all  directions. 

After  you  have  found  a  good  place  to  set  out  the 
decoys,  in  a  situation  where  you  can  make  a  blind,  put 
them  out  about  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  apart.  If  you 
expect  to  shoot  mallards  alone,  six  or  eight  decoys  are 
enough,  but  if  you  expect  to  shoot  deep-water  ducks, 
you  may  put  out  fifty.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  dan- 
ger of  putting  out  too  many.  Deep-water  ducks  like  a 
great  deal  of  company.  When  you  find  the  ducks  have 
come,  you  will  need  to  be  at  your  ground  before  day- 
break, so  that  when  the  day  dawns  you  will  be  all  ready 
to  put  out  the  decoys.  Put  them  out  as  fast  as  possible 
after  you  commence.  It  is  better  to  have  someone  to 
manage  your  boat  for  you,  then  you  can  set  them  very 
rapidly.  As  soon  as  the  decoys  are  out,  get  into  the 
blind  and  load  your  gun,  as  you  will  wish  to  be  ready 
for  the  first  duck. 

Here  comes  a  mallard,  quacking  as  she  comes  along. 
She  has  seen  the  decoys.  If  it  is  too  dark  for  you  to 
shoot  her  on  the  wing,  you  can  let  her  light,  as  she  will 
be  sure  to.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  have  her  light,  shoot 
when  she  is  settling  over  the  decoys.  Shoot  directly  at 
her,  as  she  is  making  but  very  little  headway.  If  you 
are  in  a  place  where  there  is  but  little  or  no  current,  and 
but  little  wind,  let  the  ducks  lie,  as  you  will  need  to 
be  out  of  sight  and  ready  when  other  ducks  come. 
Soon  after  day-break  is  the  best  time  for  decoy  shooting. 

But  here  comes  a  bunch  of  blue-bills.  How  they  do 
fly!  They  have  not  seen  the  decoys  yet.  If  you  can 


132  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

imitate  a  blue-bill,  do  so  just  a  little  when  they  are  just 
out  of  gunshot,  passing  by.  Now  they  see  the  decoys, 
and  turn  back.  Wait  till  they  bunch  over  the  decoys, 
and  then  shoot.  Now  be  quick !  Shoot  all  the  winged 
birds  before  they  dive.  I  never  like  to  have  wounded 
birds  get  away. 

As  soon  as  you  have  killed  the  wounded  birds,  look 
out  for  more  ducks.  It  is  time  for  them  to  fly  thick 
and  fast. 

Here  comes  a  nice  pair  of  red-heads.  Let  them  come 
close,  as  you  will  wish  to  make  a  nice  double.  They  are 
over  the  decoys;  shoot  the  first  one,  and  then  take  a  good 
aim  at  the  other  before  you  shoot.  You  must  get  a  red- 
head in  the  center  of  your  charge  if  you  wish  to  kill 
him.  A  wounded  red-head  is  soon  under  the  water,  and 
the  chances  are  that  you  will  not  see  him  again. 

While  you  are  waiting,  along  comes  a  small  bunch  of 
canvas-backs.  They  have  seen  the  decoys.  Let  them 
come  close.  If  you  shoot  too  soon,  you  will  be  likely  to 
see  them  fly  away,  with  perhaps  a  wounded  bird  leaving 
the  bunch.  Then  you  will  be  provoked  to  think  you  shot 
too  far.  Canvas-backs  are  very  easy  to  decoy,  and  the 
shooter  should  let  them  come  close. 

While  you  mourn  over  the  loss  of  the  canvas-backs, 
you  will  probably  see  two  or  three  ducks  high  up  in  the 
air.  They  have  seen  the  decoys,  but  they  hardly  know 
whether  to  come  to  them  or  not ;  but  at  last  they  de- 
cide to  come  a  little  closer,  and  you  will  notice  that  they 
are  American  widgeons.  If  you  get  them  within  forty 
yards  of  you,  you  had  better  shoot,  as  the  chances  are 
that  they  will  come  no  nearer.  They  may  fly  around 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  before  they  come  within  that 
distance. 

If  it  be  a  cloudy  day  when  you  are  out,  you  may 
have  good  shooting  most  of  the  day;  but  if  the  day  be 


IXLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  133 

pleasant,  the  ducks  will  not  fly  much  after  9  o'clock. 
Sometimes  the  ducks  fly  well  after  2  or  3  o'  clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  some  good  shooting  may  be  had. 

Soon  after  the  first  of  October  comes  the  finest  of  all 
duck-shooting  —  shooting  on  a  pass.  If  there  is  any 
place  where  a  shooter  enjoys  himself,  it  is  on  a  good  duck- 
pass,  on  a  cool  October  day,  with  company  enough  to 
make  it  interesting  —  such  a  pass  as  there  was  at  Spirit 
Lake,  or  at  Ruthven,  ten  years  ago,  where  the  ducks 
flew  day  after  day  for  five  or  six  weeks. 

Pass-shooting  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  duck-shoot- 
ing. Most  of  the  ducks  fly  very  fast  when  they  are  over 
the  land,  and  the  shooter  who  kills  three  ducks  out  of 
five  on  a  pass  does  fine  work.  It  is  the  place  to  test  a 
gun.  The  gun  must  be  a  strong  shooter,  or  it  will  be  of 
no  use,  as  most  of  the  ducks  are  killed  fifty  or  sixty 
yards  away.  Many  a  sportsman  who  thought  he  was  a 
fair  shot  has  been  surprised  at  his  shooting  on  a  pass. 
Shot  after  shot,  and  no  ducks  fall  And  why  is  it  \  The 
greatest  trouble  is,  he  has  shot  behind  the  ducks.  He 
has  not  learned  to  judge  of  the  distance  or  the  speed  of 
the  fast-flying  ducks.  He  can  hardly  be  made  to  believe 
that  the  ducks  are  flying  from  seventy  to  one  hundred 
miles  an  hour.  With  a  cold  north  wind,  and  the  ducks 
flying  with  it,  it  is  difficult  for  the  oldest  duck-shooters 
to  estimate  their  speed. 

The  sportsman  on  a  duck-pass  will  need  a  No.  1 
retrieving  dog — a  dog  that  is  not  afraid  of  cold  ice-water, 
a  quick  swimmer,  one  that  is  able  to  catch  a  wounded 
duck  should  it  fall  into  the  water. 

When  the  shooter  brings  down  his  duck,  the  dog 
should  go  after  it  at  once,  as  many  ducks  that  drop  in 
cold  water  may  be  only  slightly  wounded,  and  if  the  dog 
does  not  get  hold  of  them  quickly,  will  recover  sufficiently 
to  dive  and  get  away. 


134  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  cold  north  winds  are  very  severe  on  the  duck-dog, 
and  it  takes  a  race  of  dogs  with  great  courage  and  strength 
to  stand  the  work.  The  dog  may  have  to  go  into  the 
cold  water  more  than  100  times  a  day,  and  then  be 
obliged  to  stand  or  sit  still  when  he  is  on  the  land.  If 
the  dog  could  run  around  and  warm  himself,  it  would  be 
different;  but  he  must  keep  close  when  not  after  his  birds, 
or  he  will  frighten  the  passing  birds  away. 

A  race  of  dogs  has  been  bred  on  the  shores  of  Chesa- 
peake Bay  which  are  very  superior  duck-dogs.  No  cold 
water,  ice,  or  snow  can  daunt  them.  They  will  go  any- 
where after  wounded  or  dead  ducks.  The  cold  water  is 
almost  home  to  them.  I  have  used  them  three  years,  and 
found  them  the  best  duck-dogs  that  I  ever  shot  over. 
They  have  a  fine  nose,  and  can  trace  a  wounded  duck 
through  the  grass  where  it  would  seem  almost  impossible 
for  them  to  find  their  bird.  They  are  quick,  active,  and 
always  ready  for  work,  and  yet  they  are  very  docile  and 
kind,  and  so  tender-mouthed  that  they  will  scarcely 
ruffle  a  feather  on  a  duck.  They  carry  the  largest  goose 
or  swan  with  ease,  and  are  always  so  delighted  with 
their  work  that  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  see  them  per- 
form. 

If  the  sportsman  has  never  shot  ducks  on  a  pass,  he 
should  not  lose  the  first  chance  that  is  offered  to  have  a 
day  or  two  of  that  kind  of  work.  He  will  find  it  "royal 
sport,"  and  although  he  may  count  up  a  good  many 
misses,  and  only  a  few  kills,  yet  he  will  be  satisfied  that 
he  has  had  the  best  of  all  shooting. 

The  sportsman  on  a  duck-pass  should  have  a  10-gauge 
gun,  of  about  10  or  10£  pounds  weight.  His  shells  should 
be  loaded  with  4£  drams  of  powder  and  1£  ounces 
of  shot.  I  think  most  of  the  shells  ought  to  be  loaded 
with  No.  6  shot,  but  if  the  ducks  fly  high,  say  fifty  or 
sixty  yards  away,  he  will  require  No.  3  or  4. 


INLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  135 

He  should  be  on  the  pass  at  day-break,  as  some  of  his 
best  shots  will  be  early  in  the  morning.  In  order  to  have 
the  ducks  fly  well,  there  should  be  a  strong  wind.  If 
there  are  several  shooters  on  the  pass,  and  the  ducks  are 
working  south,  and  there  is  a  north  wind,  he  will  hear 
some  one  of  them  say,  "Mark  north!"  JXow  be  on  the 
lookout! 

Here  the  ducks  come.  They  are  coming  directly  over 
him,  about  fifty  yards  high,  and  flying  very  fast.  He 
shoots,  but  no  ducks  fall.  Here  comes  another  lot.  He 
shoots  again,  but  they  all  go  on.  He  fires  shot  after  shot, 
but  gets  no  ducks.  What  is  the  trouble?  He  has  shot 
from  ten  to  twenty  feet  behind  the  ducks. 

AVatch  that  "gray -haired  shooter,"  just  below  him 
on  the  pass.  See  how  the  ducks  fall  when  he  shoots. 
Almost  everyone  of  them  is  killed  in  the  air.  He  has 
held  his  gun  right. 

There  is  a  pair  of  ducks  going  toward  him.  Now 
watch.  He  brings  his  gun  to  his  shoulder,  carries  it 
from  three  to  ten  feet  ahead  of  the  first  duck,  "  according 
to  the  speed  at  which  the  ducks  are  flying,"  touches  the 
trigger,  and,  quick  as  lightning,  pulls  on  the  other.  They 
are  killed  in  the  air.  He  is  not  troubled  much  with  crip- 
pled ducks. 

The  sportsman  should  bear  in  mind  that  one  shot  put 
in  front  of  the  wings  is  worth  four  put  three  inches 
behind  the  wings.  AA'here  one  sportsman  shoots  ahead 
of  a  duck,  twenty  shoot  behind. 

Pass-shooting  is  different  from  all  other  kinds  of 
duck-shooting,  for  the  sportsman  will  find  that  he  will 
oftentimes  have  the  best  shooting  in  the  middle  of  the 
day.  Ducks  like  to  trade  back  and  forth,  where  there 
are  large  lots  of  them  bedded  in  the  lakes. 

The  best  day's  duck-shooting  that  I  ever  had  did  not 
begin  till  10  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  It  was  at  Elbow 


136  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

Lake,  Ruthven,  Iowa.  My  old  friend,  Frank  Xicoulin, 
and  myself,  got  up  at  3  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  take 
the  early  train  on  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  &  St.  Paul 
Railway  for  Ruthven,  thirty-five  miles  west  of  where  we 
live.  We  went  to  our  depot,  and  sat  there  three  long 
hours  waiting  for  a  * '  freight  train. "  It  came  at  last,  but 
we  did  not  get  to  Ruthven  till  after  9  o'clock.  We  went 
down  to  the  lake,  and  found  but  few  ducks  there.  The 
wind  was  southeast,  and  blowing  very  strong.  We  sat 
down  on  the  pass,  and  concluded  that  shooting  would  not 
be  very  good  that  day.  We  looked  up  toward  Lost 
Island  Lake,  which  is  situated  about  three  or  four  miles 
northwest  of  Elbow  Lake.  We  noticed  some  ducks  in 
the  air.  Soon  a  stray  flock  came  down  against  the  wind. 
They  went  over  Frank,  and  he  shot  a  pair  of  canvas- 
backs.  He  is  a  sure  shot,  and  any  duck  that  comes 
within  range  of  his  gun  is  almost  sure  to  fall. 

Other  flocks  followed,  and  soon  almost  a  stream  of 
ducks  was  pouring  into  Elbow  Lake.  The  wind  blew  so 
hard  that  they  flew  very  low.  Canvas-backs,  red- heads, 
and  blue-bills  came  in  in  thousands.  The  lake  was  full 
of  wild  celery,  the  favorite  food  of  the  deep-water  ducks. 
There  were  times  that  day  when  I  saw  more  ducks  than 
I  ever  saw  at  one  time  before.  I  shot  into  one  flock  of 
canvas-backs,  and  seven  of  the  handsome  birds  fell  with 
the  first  barrel.  We  had  two  fine  retrieving  dogs  with 
us,  and  we  gave  them  all  they  could  do  for  five  hours. 

Between1  2  and  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Frank  got 
a  shell  stuck  in  his  gun,  and  could  not  move  it.  We 
worked  at  it  over  half  an  hour,  and  finally  Frank  had  to 
go  to  town  to  get  the  shell  taken  out. 

Just  before  he  started  it  began  to  rain,  and  I  told  him 
to  send  down  a  team  for  the  ducks,  as  I  do  not  care  much 
to  shoot  in  the  rain.  I  did  not  shoot  much  after  Frank 
went  to  town,  but  gathered  the  ducks  and  counted  them. 


INLAND   DUCK-SHOOTING.  137 

We  had  in  all  250,  and  over  seventy  of  them  were  canvas- 
backs,  the  balance  being  red-heads  and  blue-bills. 

I  once  had  very  fine  shooting  at  the  Spirit  Lake  Pass, 
in  company  with  my  brother,  Mr.  Nicoulin,  a  gentleman 
from  Dubuque,  Iowa,  and  one  from  Burlington,  Yt.  I 
never  saw  two  men  more  delighted  than  were  the  gentle- 
men from  Dubuque  and  Burlington.  They  had  never 
seen  such  shooting  before.  Both  were  very  poor  shots, 
but  they  had  just  as  much  sport  as  anyone.  I  think  it 
cost  them  forty  shells  for  each  duck  they  killed.  They 
were  fair  shots  in  the  field,  but  the  pass-ducks  were  too 
fast  for  them. 

There  are  many  different  opinions  regarding  duck- 
guns.  Some  sportsmen  think  that  a  12-gauge  is  large 
enough  for  any  duck;  but  that  has  not  been  my  experi- 
ence. I  prefer  a  10-gauge  gun  for  deep-water  ducks, 
and  it  must  be  well  loaded.  I  think  a  12-gauge  gun 
will  do  for  mallards,  teal,  and  wood- ducks;  but  when  the 
sportsman  has  to  kill  most  of  his  ducks  outside  of  forty 
yards,  he  will  need  a  10-pound,  10-gauge  gun — a  gun 
that  will  take  4?  drams  of  good  powder  and  not  recoil. 

The  shot  to  use  for  deep-water  ducks  is  from  No.  3  to 
6;  other  ducks,  No.  6  to  8.  I  would  use  from  3  to  3£ 
drams  of  powder  in  a  12-gauge  gun,  and  from  4  to 
4£  in  a  10-gauge  gun.  Put  two  or  three  good  wads  over 
the  powder,  and  one  over  the  shot.  I  use  1-|  ounces  of 
shot,  but  1  or  1£  ounces  may  be  used,  and  will  shoot 
well. 

The  duck- shooter  at  a  pass,  or  in  a  blind,  should 
always  dress  warmly,  but  his  dress  should  not  be  cum- 
bersome. He  should  wear  two  good  flannel  shirts,  good, 
heavy  woolen  drawers,  thick  woolen  stockings,  good, 
stout  woolen  trousers  and  vest,  and  over  his  vest  he 
should  wear  a  dog-skin  shooting-coat.  That  will  keep 
all  the  wind  away  from  his  body.  If  the  morning  be 


138  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

very  cold,  put  on  a  woolen  coat,  and  over  all  a  canvas 
or  corduroy  shooting-coat,  with  plenty  of  pockets  for 
shells,  etc. 

Always  have  a  small  screw-driver  and  a  shell -extractor 
in  your  shooting-coat  pocket.  You  may  have  trouble 
with  your  gun,  and  have  to  take  it  apart.  Carry  an  extra 
firing-pin,  as  you  may  break  one.  Wear  an  old  light- 
colored  cap  or  hat;  a  cap  or  hat  that  looks  like  dry  grass 
is  what  the  sportsman  needs.  Ducks  do  not  like  black 
clothes,  nor  a  great  black  hat. 

If  you  are  shooting  where  the  pass  is  dry,  use  leather 
boots  or  shoes,  but  where  it  is  wet,  use  rubber  hip-boots. 
Keep  the  feet  dry,  if  possible. 

If  the  shooter  has  no  shooting-coat  except  a  dark-col- 
ored one,  he  can  make  one  out  of  an  old  coffee-sack. 
Cut  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  sack  for  the  head,  and 
one  for  each  arm,  and  you  have  a  coat  of  good  color  for 
duck -shooting.  It  does  not  look  quite  as  fine  as  a  well- 
made  shooting-coat,  but  the  ducks  do  not  care  for  style. 


In  speechless  admiration,  his  eyes  with  rapture  gloat 

Upon  his  horde  of  trophies,  the  mallards  in  his  boat. 

A  sudden  doubt  confronts  him— how  bear  them  from  the  shore 

Unto  the  distant  station,  two  miles  away  or  morel 


BOB    WHITE. 


BY  AMORY  R.  STARR  ("JACOB  STAFF"). 


F  all  North  American  game  birds,  no  one  is 
so  well  known  to  all  true  sportsmen,  or  so 
deeply  seated  in  their  affections,  as  the 
subject  of  this  chapter;  and,  alas!  no  one 
is  so  thoroughly  misnamed.  The  name 
"quail"  is  most  generally  used,  and 
is  still  further  growing  in  favor.  Never- 
theless, it  is  a  decided  error  so  to  call  the 
bird.  Universal  custom  may  be  pleaded  to 
justify  the  use  of  this  name,  but  the  bird  is  not  a  quail, 
despite  the  arguments  of  Herbert,  Hawes,  and  later 
writers.  It  is  useless  to  discuss  at  length  the  difference 
between  the  European  quail  and  the  American  bird;  this 
ground  has  been  repeatedly  covered.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  the  European  quail  has  dark  flesh,  and  is  strictly 
migratory  and  polygamous,  while  the  American  bird  has 
white  flesh,  and  is  non-migratory  and  monogamous,  and 
in  these  three  respects  resembles  the  English  partridge. 
In  size  alone,  Bob  White  resembles  the  quail  more  nearly 
than  the  partridge;  and  this  led  the  Puritans  of  New  Eng- 
land so  to  misname  our  bird.  The  cavaliers  of  Virginia 
and  Maryland  were  better  sportsmen  than  the  Puritans, 
being  generally  drawn  from  the  landed  proprietors  and 
rural  population  of  England.  They  observed  more  closely 
the  habits  and  characteristics  of  all  game,  and  they  called 
the  bird  a  partridge.  Unfortunately,  however,  the  con- 
tributors to  sportsmen's  journals,  as  a  rule,  lived  in  the 

(139) 


140 


UPLAND    SHOOTING. 


part  of  the  country  where  the  name  "  quail"  was  in  gen- 
eral use,  and  they  so  called  the  bird  in  their  writings,  and 
fortified  their  position  by  arguments  more  or  less  falla- 
'cious;  and  here  the  power  of  the  press  to  disseminate 
misinformation  as  well  as  information  became  painfully 
apparent.  Moreover,  the  West  and  Northwest  being 
settled  from  the  North,  the  term  "quail"  followed  civ- 
ilization in  those  directions,  until  now,  I  believe,  fully 

four-fifths  of  those  who 
shoot  on  the  wing  call 
this  bird  a  quail.  For 
all  that,  the  use  of  this 
name  is  as  improper  as 
it  is  for  us  in  the  South 
to  call  the  black  bass  a 
trout;  still,  however,  it 
smacks  of  affectation  to 
call  the  bird  by  any  other 
title  than  the  misnomer 
in  popular  use. 

While  in  this  quan- 
dary, I  turned  to  an 
article  originally  pub- 
lished in  the"  Century 
Magazine,  and  now  form- 
ing one  of  not  only  the  most  entertaining,  but  also  most 
instructive,  chapters  in  "  Sports  with  Rod  and  Gun."  It 
is  from  the  pen  of  Alfred  M.  Mayer.  In  this  article  the 
writer  says:  ' '  In  the  North  and  East  he  is  called  quail,  in 
the  South  and  West  he  is  partridge,  while  everywhere  he 
is  known  as  Bob  White.  Let  us  then  call  him  as  he  calls 
himself,  and  we  will  not  be  berated  for  our  ignorance  of 
natural  history."  I  had  before  been  favorably  impressed 
with  the  above,  but  it  seemed  to  me  rather  like  using  a 
pretty  pet  name.  Just  at  that  moment  a  white-cheeked 


BOB    WHITE.  141 

I 

little  fellow  on  my  orchard  fence,  standing  guard  over 
his  wife  and  home,  said:  "Bob  White!"  and,  as  if  eager 
to  emphasize  the  name,  repeated:  ' '  Bob,  Bob  White!' '  A 
mocking-bird  on  the  swaying  branch  of  an  immense  pin- 
oak  reiterated:  "  Bob  White!  Bob  White!"  It  seemed  to 
me  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  The  bird  so  called  him- 
self, the  most  versatile  of  all  Nature's  conversationalists 
indorsed  the  name,  and  I,  too,  would,  like  the  mocking- 
bird, become  an  imitator,  and  in  this  article  follow  the 
suggestion  of  Mr.  Mayer. 

I  am  further  fortified  in  this  position  by  the  action  of 
the  American  Ornithological  Union,  in  their  "Check  List 
of  American  Birds,"  where  they  reject  the  name  quail, 
and  place  the  bird  in  the  subfamily  Perdicinae,  or  par- 
tridges, a  summary  of  their  classification  being  as  fol- 
lows: 

Order  Gallinae — gallinaceous  birds. 

Suborder  Phasiani — pheasants,  grouse,  partridges, 
quails,  etc. 

Family  Tetraonidae — grouse,  partridges,  etc. 

Subfamily  Perdicinae — partridges. 

Genus  Colinus. 

Species  Colinus  mrginianus — Bob  White. 

Subspecies  Colinus  mrginianus  Jloridanus — Florida 
Bob  White. 

Colinus  mrginianus  texanus — Texan  Bob  White. 

There  seems  to  be  little  or  no  difference  between  the 
Virginia,  the  Florida,  and  the  Texas  Bob  Whites  except 
their  habitat  and  color,  the  Florida  bird  being  the  darkest 
and  the  Texas  bird  the  lightest  of  the  three.  The  Vir- 
ginia Bob  White  is  also,  probably,  the  largest  bird,  but  the 
size  of  each  varies  somewhat  with  the  character  of  the 
food,  it  being  said  that  birds  which  are  found  in  a  coun- 
try devoted  to  small  grains  are  larger  than  those  found 
elsewhere. 


142  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  description  of  Bob  White  as  given  by  Wilson  is 
minute  and  accurate.  It  is  as  follows: 

"Nine  inches  long  and  fourteen  inches  in  extent;  the 
bill  is  black;  line  over  the  eye,  down  the  neck,  and  whole 
chin,  pure  white,  bounded  by  a  band  of  black,  which 
descends  and  spreads  broadly  over  the  throat;  the  eye  is 
dark  hazel;  crown,  neck,  and  upper  part  of  breast,  red- 
brown;  sides  of  the  neck,  spotted  with  white  and  black 
on  a  reddish-brown  ground;  back,  scapulars,  and  lesser 
coverts,  red-brown,  intermixed  with  ash,  and  sprinkled 
with  black;  tertials,  edged  with  yellowish- white;  wings, 
plain  dusky;  lower  part  of  the  breast  and  belly,  pale 
yellowish- white,  beautifully  marked  with  numerous  curv- 
ing spots  or  arrow-heads  of  black;  tail,  ash,  sprinkled 
with  reddish-brown;  legs,  very  pale  ash." 

He  does  not  mention  their  weight,  which  may  be 
stated  as  being  from  six  to  8£  ounces,  the  latter,  however, 
being  rare.  Seven  or  7£  ounces  is,  I  think,  about  the 
average  weight  for  well-grown,  well-fed  birds. 

The  habitat  of  Bob  White  in  the  United  States  and 
Canada  may  be  given  as  follows:  Beginning  at  and 
including  Southern  New  Hampshire;  thence  down  the 
Atlantic  Coast  to  the  Everglades  of  Florida;  thence  west- 
ward with  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the  mouth  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  up  that  stream  to  the  twenty -fourth  merid- 
ian, which  may  be  taken  as  the  western  boundary  line, 
although  it  is  gradually  extending  westward,  especially 
in  Nebraska  and  Dakota,  some  having  been  found  even 
in  Wyoming,  and  they  have  been  successfully  trans- 
planted into  Colorado.  The  forty-fifth  parallel  appears 
to  be  about  their  northern  boundary  line  in  the  extreme 
Northwest.  It  then  bears  southward  toward  the  Great 
Lakes,  including  Southern  Minnesota,  Wisconsin,  and 
Michigan,  crossing  into  Canada  near  the  lower  end  of  Lake 
Huron,  and  continuing  eastward  through  the  Province 


BOB    WHITE.  143 

of  Ontario  and  the  State  of  New  York  to  the  beginning. 
Some  birds  are  found  beyond  these  limits,  but  they  are 
too  rare  to  be  specially  sought  for  by  sportsmen.  In 
Ontario  they  do  not  appear  to  be  found  so  far  north  as 
formerly,  while  in  Dakota  they  are  spreading  to  the 
north  as  well  as  to  the  west.  They  have  been  occasionally 
transplanted  into  Maine,  and  being  liberated  in  the 
spring,  good  broods  would  be  reared;  but  few  would  sur- 
vive the  following  winter,  being  exterminated  more  by 
the  deep  snows  than  by  the  excessive  cold. 

Bob  Whites  are  found  in  Mexico,  in  the  States 
of  Coahuila,  Nuevo  Leon,  and  Tamaulipas,  and  even 
farther  south,  being  said  by  good  authorities  to  extend 
down  to  the  Balize.  They  are  also  abundant  in  Cuba, 
though  I  have  never  heard  of  them  in  any  of  the  other 
West  India  Islands.  The  Cuban  bird  is,  by  some  natu- 
ralists, made  a  different  subspecies.  The  following  de- 
scription and  remarks  I  received  from  Dr.  H.  McHatton, 
of  Macon,  Ga.,  who  for  many  years  was  a  planter  and 
keen  sportsman  in  Cuba:  "  The  Cuban  Bob  Whites  gen- 
erally pair  from  April  1st  to  April  15th;  the  young 
furnish  good  shooting  about  October  1st.  The  broods 
are  large,  averaging  eighteen  or  twenty.  They  abound 
in  all  cultivated  parts  of  the  island,  their  favorite  cover 
being  sugar-cane  and  hedges,  and  their  favorite  food 
all  varieties  of  grass-seed,  especially  caldo,  santo,  and 
lechosa.  They  are  very  numerous,  and  increase  rapidly, 
and  but  for  heavy  storms  would  overrun  the  island. 
While  the  shooting  is  done  mostly  before  10  o'clock  a.m. 
and  after  4  o'clock  p.m.,  it  is  not  unusual  for  an  average 
brace  of  dogs  to  find  fifteen  or  twenty  coveys  in  that  time. 

"Cuba,  for  several  reasons,  is  probably  the  best  quail- 
hunting  country  in  America;  the  climate  is  all  that  could 
be  desired;  food  is  abundant  all  the  time;  there  are  very 
few  snakes,  no  carnivorous  animals,  except  an  occasional 


144  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

stray  domestic  cat;  literally  no  shooting  over  dogs,  no 
netting,  and  very  little  trapping,  the  climate  and  the 
laws  of  the  land  being  well  calculated  to  prevent  market- 
hunting.  The  Cuban  bird  is,  in  some  respects,  different 
from  ours,  bearing  a  close  resemblance  to  the  bird  of  the 
pine-barrens  of  Georgia,  being  smaller  than  our  local 
bird,  and  of  a  deeper  color,  especially  noticeable  in  the 
male.  He  is  strikingly  red — so  deep  in  this  color  that  no 
one  fails  to  notice  it.  In  all  other  respects  he  is  the  same 
old  Bob  White.  The  hunting  is  done  principally  in  the 
morning.  I  usually  stopped  at  9,  and  never  hunted 
later  than  10  a.  m.  In  the  Partido  de  Cabezas,  where  I 
lived,  the  number  of  birds  killed  depended  on  the  num- 
ber I  could  use.  In  the  fall,  the  best  hunting  is  on  the 
cattle-ranches  and  old  fields.  By  January  the  cane  on 
the  plantations  is  pretty  well  cut  off,  and  in  February 
and  March  the  hunting  there  is  simply  unequaled,  there 
being  just  enough  cover  for  the  birds  to  lie  well,  and 
nothing  to  obstruct  the  shooting.  There  is  one  method 
of  hunting,  and  quite  a  destructive  one  it  is,  in  vogue 
among  the  guajiros  (peasants).  As  I  have  never  seen  it 
in  any  other  place,  it  may  prove  of  interest.  Nearly  all 
the  plantations  are  divided  by  hedges,  and  these,  in  that 
tropical  climate,  soon  become  impenetrable  thickets  of 
briars  and  vines;  the  birds,  of  course3  are  found  in  abun- 
dance in  reach  of  this  cover.  The  guajiro  has  ablack-and- 
tan  dog,  or  common  fice,  trained  to  run  into  the  coveys 
and  bark.  If  the  birds  are  near  a  hedge,  they  tree  instead 
of  lighting  on  the  ground.  The  dog  gets  under  them,  and 
keeps  up  a  continuous  barking.  The  guajiro,  armed  with 
a  pole  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  with  a  small  wire  snare  at 
the  end,  will  often  clean  up  an  entire  covey  in  a  very  few 
minutes. ' ' 

Some  time  since  I  prepared  numerous  questions  about 
Bob  Whites,  which  I  had  printed  in  circular  form  and 


BOB  WHITE.  145 

sent  out  to  several  hundred  sportsmen  in  the  United  States 
and  British  Possessions.  I  did  this  because  I  desired  to 
obtain  the  opinions  of  practical  sportsmen  on  the  subject, 
to  eke  out  the  information  which  I  had  acquired  through 
my  own  observation  as  to  the  habits  of  Bob  White.  As 
the  greater  number  of  those  applied  to  were  utter 
strangers  to  me,  it  was  rather  a  presumptuous  proceed- 
ing, but  I  relied  upon  that  bond  of  sympathy  which 
exists  between  all  true  sportsmen,  and  my  faith  in  the 
brotherhood  was  not  misplaced.  The  answers  came  in 
from  every  direction,  and  nearly  all  showed  a  desire  to 
communicate  accurate  and  trustworthy  information.  I 
beg  to  reiterate  here,  to  each  and  all,  the  thanks  which  I 
returned  as  the  answers  were  received.  Two  hundred 
and  seventy-six  sportsmen  responded.  The  answers  to 
some  of  the  questions  I  have  tabulated,  and  taken  in 
some  places  the  average,  in  others  giving  the  different 
views,  pro  and  con,  on  various  disputed  points.  Many 
would  leave  one  or  more  questions  unanswered,  or  would 
not  answer  positively,  consequently  the  footings  I  give 
do  not  show  the  total  number  of  persons  from  whom  I 
received  answers.  The  summary  is  as  follows:  The  num- 
ber reared  in  an  average  brood  is  thirteen.  One  hundred 
and  twenty-eight  who  answer  say  that  two  broods  are 
frequently  reared  by  a  pair  of  birds  in  one  season,  while 
eighty-eight  deny  it.  One  hundred  and  eighty  credit  the 
cock  with  assisting  the  hen  in  setting,  while  fifty  do  not. 
Twenty-six  say  that  Bob  White  migrates,  one  hundred 
and  forty-five  deny  it,  and  forty-nine  say  that  he  does  so 
to  a  limited  extent.  Ninety-five  believe  that  he  has  the 
power  to  withhold  his  scent  at  will,  seventy-seven  say 
not,  and  thirty  give  what  I  believe  is  the  true  explana- 
tion, as  hereinafter  mentioned.  Seventy-six  prefer  the 
pointer,  one  hundred  and  fourteen  the  setter,  and  many 

like  both.     Where  the  kind  of  setter  is  mentioned,  it  is 
10 


146  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

nearly  alwa}7s  the  English;  some  few  prefer  the  Irish, 
and  two  or  three  the  black-and-tan,  or  so-called  Gordon. 
One  hundred  and  thirty -eight  believe  that  Bob  Whites 
are  decreasing,  sixty-seven  say  increasing,  and  twenty 
believe  that  he  is  just  holding  his  own  in  numbers.  The 
average  gun  and  charge  is  a  twelve-gauge,  weighing  seven 
and  one-half  pounds,  with  thirty-inch  barrels,  either 
cylinder  or  slightly  choked,  loaded  with  three  and  one- 
half  drams  of  powder,  and  one  and  one-eighth  ounces 
of  shot.  The  average  number  of  coveys  found  in  a  day 
by  an  average  brace  of  dogs  is  nine,  out  of  which  an 
average  shot  bags  twenty  birds,  killing  53  per  cent,  of 
his  shots. 

The  time  when  Bob  Whites  disband  their  coveys,  and 
separate  into  pairs,  depends  largely  on  the  weather.  If 
it  has  been  mild  and  pleasant,  they  of  course  mate  much 
earlier  than  when  it  is  cold  and  inclement.  I  have  on 
several  occasions  seen  coveys  break  into  pairs,  and  then, 
upon  the  weather  becoming  cold  and  stormy,  reassemble 
into  coveys.  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  they  select  their 
mates  sometime  before  they  separate  from  the  covey. 
May  1st  appears  to  be  about  the  usual  time  for  pairing 
in  the  North,  and  the  20th  of  April  in  the  extreme 
South.  This  year  (1889)  we  had  a  remarkably  early 
spring.  I  have  watched  the  birds  carefully,  and  as  a 
rule  they  paired  about  April  15th,  some  remaining  in 
coveys  a  fortnight  later. 

The  Bob  Whites  build  their  nests  on  the  ground,  in 
some  slight  depression,  among  weeds,  grass,  or  stubble, 
avoiding  bare  ground  on  the  one  hand,  and  dense  and 
heavy  undergrowth  and  cover  on  the  other.  The  nest  is 
meagrely  lined,  if  at  all,  and  therein  the  hens  lay  from  ten 
to  eighteen  eggs — the  smaller  number  being  probably  laid 
by  birds  in  their  first  season,  or  by  those  of  advanced  years 
and  decreasing  fecundity.  There  are  occasions  when 


BOB   WHITE.  147 

more  birds  than  one  will  lay  in  the  same  nest,  as  is  done 
by  the  domestic  guinea-hen  and  some  other  birds.  I  have 
been  told  by  close  observers  that  in  such  cases  there  was 
but  one  male,  which  was  acting  a  Mormon's  part;  but 
of  this  I  can  not  speak  of  my  own  knowledge.  I  am  confi- 
dent, however,  that  more  than  one  hen  will  lay  in  the 
same  nest.  The  eggs  are  pure  white,  and  a  blunt  oval 
in  shape.  The  period  of  incubation  is  variously  given, 
but  it  is  most  probably  twenty-one  days. 

It  has  been  a  mooted  question  whether  the  cock  assists 
the  hen  in  sitting  on  the  eggs.  I  have  several  times  seen 
the  cock-bird  on  the  nest,  and  there  are  those  in  whom  I 
have  the  utmost  confidence  who  state  that  they  have 
repeatedly  seen  it.  One  especially  close  observer,  and  a 
trustworthy  man,  informs  me  that  he  watched  several 
nests,  and  that  in  each  and  every  case  the  hen-bird  sat 
during  the  night.  Early  in  the  morning  she  would  leave 
the  nest  in  care  of  the  cock.  He  would  sit  on  it  for  an 
hour  or  two,  until  the  hen  returned  from  search  of  food, 
then  she  would  sit  till  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon, 
when  he  would  again  relieve  her  for  a  similar  period,  she 
returning  to  the  nest  a  little  before  sundown.  I  do  not 
know  that  this  routine  is  invariably  adopted,  but  that  the 
cock-bird  does  assist  the  hen  in  hatching  the  eggs,  I  have 
not  the  least  doubt.  When  the  weather  is  very  warm, 
both  birds  will  sometimes  vacate  the  nest  for  an  hour  or 
two  at  noon. 

The  young  birds,  when  hatched,  are  tiny  things,  but 
Nature  has  thrown  many  safeguards  around  them  for 
their  protection.  A  wonderful  power  of  concealment,  the 
vigilance  of  their  parents,  and  the  instinct,  or  rather 
reasoning  power,  which  causes  the  hen  to  act  as  if  she  were 
crippled,  and  thereby  draw  the  intruder  away  from  her 
infant  brood,  are  among  the  most  beautiful  of  Nature's 
provisions  for  the  protection  of  the  weak  and  helpless. 


148  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  time  at  which  the  young  are  large  enough  to 
afford  sport  varies  greatly,  being  regulated,  of  course,  by 
the  period  at  which  their  parents  mated.  They  are 
occasionally  large  enough  by  the  first  of  September, 
frequently  so  at  the  beginning  of  October,  but  I  think 
that  probably  none  should  be  shot  until  November  1st, 
for  while  I,  on  one  occasion,  saw  a  covey  of  young  birds 
on  April  1st  which  were  quite  large  and  able  to  fly  well,  I 
have,  on  the  other  hand,  seen  many  broods  late  in  October 
of  which  I  doubted  the  ability  to  survive  the  loss  of  their 
parents.  The  opening  of  the  season  should  be  postponed 
until  all,  or  nearly  all,  are  not  only  large  enough  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  but  have  sufficient  strength  of  wing  to 
test  the  marksman' s  skill,  and  a  sufficient  accumulation  of 
flesh  to  tempt  the  epicure.  Nothing  is  more  detestable 
than  going  out  early  in  the  season  to  butcher  fluttering 
"cheepers,"  and  thereby  gratify  the  miserable  desire  to 
make  a  big  bag.  Anybody  can  do  this  if  he  is  willing  to 
make  his  dog  suffer  from  the  heat,  and  degrade  his  own 
manhood;  it  is  no  test  of  sportsmanship. 

The  food  of  Bob  Whites  depends  largely  upon  the 
locality  which  they  frequent  and  the  season  of  the  year. 
In  the  North,  buckwheat  seems  to  be  their  favorite  food; 
in  the  South,  the  corn-field  pea.  All  small  grains  are 
eagerly  sought  for — Indian  corn,  the  seed  of  sorghum,  and 
of  many  weeds.  The  small  varieties  of  mast  they  swal- 
low whole,  and  I  have  found  in  the  crops  of  many  birds 
parts  of  large  acorns,  which  they  had  either  broken  up 
themselves  or  found  broken  by  hogs  or  other  agency. 
They  are  largely  insectivorous.  In  the  South,  sometimes, 
in  the  early  fall,  they  feed  upon  the  cotton- worm,  when 
those  pests  are  abundant,  to  such  an  extent  as  to  give  an 
unpleasant  flavor  to  the  flesh.  There  is  no  bird  which 
does  the  farmer  less  harm  and  more  good  than  the  Bob 
White.  Whatever  grain  he  takes,  it  is  not  missed,  while 


BOB -WHITE.  149 

he  destroys  innumerable  noxious  insects  and  weed-seeds. 
It  is  said  that  he  is  very  fond  of  the  tiny  seeds  of  the  Japan 
clover,  which  has  of  late  years  spread  over  our  section  of 
the  country ;  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  verify  this  by 
my  own  observation.  In  the  spring,  when  the  mast  is 
gone  and  seeds  have  generally  decayed  or  sprouted,  the 
Bob  White  eats  various  young  weeds.  The  favorite  cover 
of  Bob  White  is  stubble,  weed-fields,  broom-sedge,  and 
grass.  When  flushed  or  frightened,  they  fly  to  the 
thickets,  especially  the  brush  along  streams,  and  are 
generally  found  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  some 
such  coverts,  which  causes  many  to  believe  that  they  look 
upon  water  as  a  matter  of  prime  necessity ;  this  I  am 
somewhat  inclined  to  doubt,  for  the  following  reason: 
In  September,  1884,  I  went  on  a  bear-hunt  to  what  is 
known  as  the  Nueces  Canon,  which  runs  through  Uvalde 
and  other  counties  in  the  southwestern  portion  of  Texas. 
It  was  during  a  severe  drought.  Water  was  to  be  found 
only  on  the  IS"ueces  River  and  a  few  of  its  tributaries,  and 
while  the  cattle  had  eaten  all  the  grass  within  several 
miles  of  the  stream  along  part  of  our  road,  in  other  places 
we  found  it  quite  abundant,  because  the  cattle  would  not 
go  so  far  from  water  to  graze  upon  it,  and  yet  in  those  very 
places  I  saw  more  Bob  Whites  than  I  ever  saw  before  or 
since.  They  were  just  as  abundant  miles  from  water  as 
they  were  upon  the  banks  of  the  stream.  The  country 
was  so  dry  and  elevated  that  there  was  no  dew.  We 
could  leave  our  guns  out  in  the  open  air  all  night,  and 
they  would  not  gather  a  particle  of  rust.  The  only  solu- 
tion I  could  give  of  this,  was  either  that  the  birds  could 
do  without  water  or  that  they  must  quench  their  thirst 
from  the  "prickly  pears"  (fruit  of  the  cacti)  which  abound 
in  that  section.  My  limited  time,  and  my  desire  to  secure 
larger,  not  nobler,  game,  prevented  me  from  making  a 
close  investigation  into  this. 


150  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

I  Relieve  that  the  number  of  birds  reared  in  a  brood 
is  overestimated  by  many,  who  place  it  as  high  as 
eighteen  or  twenty.  In  the  first  place,  the  number  of 
eggs  found  in  a  nest  will  not  justify  this,  if  you 
allow  for  the  probable  loss  between  the  hatching  and  the 
maturing  of  the  broods;  moreover,  if  you  will  go  out 
early  in  the  season,  when  the  coveys  have  not  been 
reduced  in  number,  and  flush  a  covey  where  you  can  watch 
them  closely,  you  will  soon  be  able  to  satisfy  yourself 
that  a  dozen  is  a  liberal  estimate  for  an  average  covey, 
and  from  this  the  two  parents  are  to  be  deducted. 

There  has  been  much  discussion  as  to  whether  or  not 
a  pair  of  birds  rear  more  than  one  brood  in  a  season. 
Many  believe  and  stoutly  assert  that  they  rear  two,  and 
sometimes  three.  I  doubt  the  correctness  of  this  conclu- 
sion except  in  rare  and  exceptional  cases.  If  the  nest  is 
destroyed,  they  will  frequently  lay  again,  but  not  other- 
wise. Many  base  their  opinion  that  a  second  brood  is 
reared  upon  the  fact  that  birds  of  different  sizes  are  found 
in  the  same  covey.  We  have  all  seen  this,  but  I  believe, 
if  we  had  watched  closely,  we  would  have  generally  found 
at  least  three  parent  birds  among  them.  Last  season  I 
watched  closely  all  coveys  containing  both  large  and 
small  birds — in  such  cases  I  never  shoot  into  them — and 
almost  without  exception  I  could  see  three  or  four  birds 
which  I  thought  were  a  year  or  more  older  than  the  rest 
of  the  covey.  The  fact  that  some  birds  are  hatched  early 
in  June,  and  others  late  in  October,  will  not  sustain  the 
supposition  of  those  who  believe  that  two  broods  are 
reared  by  one  pair.  In  hunting  deer  we  frequently  find 
fawns  well  able  to  care  for  themselves  early  in  July,  and 
again  we  find  them  small  and  helpless  as  late  as  Novem- 
ber, and  yet  we  know  that  it  is  a  physical  impossibility 
for  deer  to  breed  twice  in  one  summer.  It  is  simply  a 
natural  phenomenon  which  appears  in  all  animate  creation. 


BOB    WHITE.  151 

The  Bob  Whites  which  have  been  transplanted  into 
Colorado,  I  am  informed,  do  certainly  breed  twice,  and  it 
may  be  also  true  for  Florida,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  it 
will  apply  to  the  great  proportion  of  the  territory  where 
the  birds  are  found.  At  my  ranch,  I  have  a  small  field 
which  is  separated  by  several  miles  of  dense  woods  from 
any  other  open  land  frequented  by  Bob  Whites.  The 
birds  on  this  place  are  well  protected  in  the  breeding- 
season,  and  the  nests  carefully  located.  These  pairs  rear 
only  one  brood  each.  Last  year  the  high  water  destroyed 
several  nests;  some  of  these  birds  nested  again,  but  not 
all  of  them.  Knowing  the  number  of  nests,  and  watch- 
ing all  the  coveys  reared  on  the  place,  I  am  positive  that 
no  pair  reared  more  than  one  brood.  There  was  one  large 
covey  of  young  which  varied  greatly  in  size.  I  flushed 
it  repeatedly,  and  there  were  at  least  three  old  birds,  two 
of  them  being  hens.  While  my  own  observation  leads 
me  to  believe  that  only  one  brood  is  reared  in  each  season 
by  a  pair,  I  hesitate  to  assert  this  positively,  for  the  con- 
trary view  is  held  by  so  many  whose  opportunities  for 
knowing  the  facts  are  equally  as  good  as  my  own.  Dog- 
matic assertions  should  in  all  such  matters  be  carefully 
avoided. 

Another  disputed  question  is  whether  or  not  Bob  White 
is  a  migratory  bird.  If  we  except  what  is  called  the  ' '  run- 
ning season"  in  some  of  the  Middle  States,  Bob  Whites 
are  certainly  non-migratory.  Overflows,  forest  tires,  and 
scarcity  of  food  will  occasionally  drive  them  from  their 
accustomed  haunts,  but  they  rarely  go  farther  than  a  few 
miles.  We  can  not  speak  of  them  as  migratory  in  the 
sense  that  the  snipe,  woodcock,  plover,  wild  fowl,  and 
other  birds  are  migratory.  The  seasons  neither  time  their 
movements  nor  control  the  direction  of  them;  it  might 
as  well  be  said  that  a  man  migrates  to  his  office  for  busi- 
ness, to  the  restaurant  for  his  luncheon,  to  the  theatre 


152  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

for  amusement,  and  to  his  own  fireside  for  home  comfort 
and  enjoyment.  That  entertaining  but  most  inaccurate 
writer,  Herbert,  in  his  anxiety  to  miscall  the  bird  a  quail, 
used. his  utmost  endeavors  to  prove  that  it  was  migratory. 
In  this  section,  the  birds  frequently  leave  the  fields  in 
October  or  November,  when  the  grain  and  weed-seeds 
appear  to  be  exhausted,  and  stay  in  the  woods,  especially 
when  there  is  a  good  mast.  If  the  mast  is  an  utter  failure, 
they  go  to  the  woods  only  in  bitterly  cold  weather,  and 
not  always  then.  Under  no  circumstances  do  they  go 
more  than  a  mile  or  two  from  where  they  were  reared, 
and  in  January  or  February  they  return.  Where  your 
dogs  found  a  covey  in  October,  you  may  expect  to  find 
them  again  in  February.  Some  writers  have  claimed  that 
while  Bob  Whites  were  always  found  in  particular  local- 
ities, this  did  not  prove  the  birds  to  be  non-migratory; 
for,  they  claimed,  new  coveys  were  continually  taking 
the  place  of  those  which  preceded  them  in  a  general 
movement  in  some  particular  direction.  The  incorrect- 
ness of  this  opinion  is  demonstrated  by  the  fact  that  cer- 
tain coveys  have  peculiarities,  and  that  the  birds  found 
at  that  particular  place  will,  during  the  entire  season  and 
for  successive  seasons,  act  in  the  same  manner;  for 
instance,  I  have  known  coveys  which,  when  flushed, 
would  fly  into  trees  and  perch  there,  and  this  they  would 
do  time  and  again,  and  year  after  year,  thereby  demon- 
strating that  they  were  the  same  birds  which  were  always 
found  at  that  particular  spot. 

Many  claim  that  Bob  Whites  have  the  power  of  with- 
holding their  scent  at  will.  This  is  an  error,  and  here 
again  we  find  Herbert  using  his  undoubted  talents  in  a 
misdirection.  To  the  casual  observer,  it  would  appear 
that  they  have  this  power,  but  a  closer  investigation  will 
enable  one  better  to  understand  the  phenomenon.  If  you 
will  take  a  musty,  moth-eaten  fur  rug  and  move  it  across 


BOB   WHITE.  153 

the  room,  it  will  give  out  an  unpleasant  odor;  but  if  you 
take  it  into  the  open  air,  shake  it  violently  for  several 
minutes,  then  wrap  it  up  into  a  small  compass  and  put  it 
under  some  article  of  furniture  in  the  same  room,  your 
olfactories  will  not  be  able  to  detect  its  presence.  It  is 
so  with  Bob  Whites;  when  flushed,  their  rapid  motion 
through  the  air  dissipates  the  scent,  and  sometimes  they 
will  plunge  into  thick  grass  or  cover,  press  themselves 
closely  against  the  ground,  fold  their  wings  tightly  to 
their  bodies,  and  appear  hardly  to  breathe;  then,  until 
they  move,  it  is  difficult  for  the  dogs  to  smell  them.  But 
these  instances  are  rare;  as  a  general  rule,  when  the  bird 
alights,  he  moves  enough  to  give  forth  scent.  Herbert, 
and  others,  who  advise  novices  to  hold  up  their  dogs  for 
a  considerable  space  of  time,  are  misled.  In  some  cases 
it  will  be  well,  but  far  of tener  it  will  cause  useless  delay. 
If  your  dogs  are  good,  and  the  day  be  an  average  one  for 
scent,  mark  your  birds  down  and  go  promptly  to  them. 
If  you  delay  too  long,  the  birds  will  run  together  again, 
and  you  will  merely  get  another  covey  rise.  That  the 
Bob  White  does  this  because  he  is  frightened  and  wishes 
to  conceal  himself  from  the  eye  of  the  hunter,  not  from 
the  nose  of  the  dog,  I  believe,  for  two  reasons.  First,  if 
they  had  this  power  and  knowledge,  we  should  have  to 
steal  upon  them  unaware  to  secure  a  point;  and,  secondly, 
we  find  this  phenomenon  most  frequent  where  the  birds 
have  been  flushed  and  scattered  by  hawks,  whose  keen 
sight,  not  scenting  powers,  they  dread. 

!Xo  men  know  better  than  our  field- trial  handlers 
what  a  bird-dog  can  do,  and  none  are  better  informed 
about  Bob  Whites;  and  anyone  who  has  ever  judged  at 
field  trials,  will  readily  testify  to  the  vexatious,  but 
rather  excusable,  manner  in  which  these  handlers  will 
rush  their  dogs  to  secure  points  on  birds  just  flushed  and 
scattered,  in  order  to  earn  thereby  valuable  prizes,  and 


154  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

to  add  to  the  reputation  of  their  dogs.  Dogs  with  poor 
noses  are  largely  responsible  for  the  idea  that  Bob 
Whites  can  withhold  their  scent  at  will.  When  Harry 
Archer  said  that  these  birds  close  the  pores  of  their  skins, 
and  thereby  withhold  the  scent,  he  should  have  referred 
to  his  dog's  nose  as  being  closed. 

The  future  of  our  game  animals  and  birds  causes  the 
thoughtful  sportsman  much  anxiety.  Whether  we  look 
backward  or  forward,  the  result  is  the  same.  The  buffalo 
is  practically  extinct;  the  elk  can  be  reached  by  but  few, 
and  deer  and  wild  turkeys  are  now  unknown  in  sections 
where  they  were  once  superabundant.  The  annual  flights 
of  wild  fowl  are  yearly  less  and  less.  From  the  answers 
received  to  my  inquiries,  it  appears  that  Bob  Whites  are 
also,  as  a  general  rule,  decreasing  alarmingly  in  num- 
bers, and  this  is  especially  to  be  regretted;  for,  from  the 
nature  and  habits  of  the  birds^  they  can  be  made  to 
increase,  even  in  densely  settled  farming  districts;  but  to 
do  this  is  not  a  matter  of  a  day  nor  a  year.  Good  game 
laws  are,  of  course,  most  essential;  but  game  laws  are 
mere  dead  letters  unless  they  are  supported  by  public 
sentiment,  and  not  only  actively  enforced  by  prominent 
sportsmen,  but  also  closely  observed  by  them.  This  is 
what  I  mean:  I  know  many  sportsmen  who  would  not 
think  of  shooting  Bob  Whites  out  of  season,  who  are 
earnest  in  their  efforts  to  protect  them,  and  yet  will,  on 
occasions,  violate  the  law  for  the  protection  of  some 
other  kind  of  game,  thereby  destroying  whatever  influ- 
ence they  may  have  for  good.  The  sportsman  should 
observe  all  game  laws;  he  should  learn  and  obey  the  laws 
of  the  land,  no  matter  how  unjust  and  unwise  he  may 
think  some  particular  clauses  to  be,  for  if  he  violates 
one,  the  market-hunter  and  bag-maker  will  violate  them 
all;  and  he  should  observe  even  still  more  closely  the 
laws  of  Dame  Nature,  and  under  no  circumstances  molest 


(155) 


156  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

the  breeding  and  undeveloped  game.  There  is  a  wide 
discrepancy  of  opinion  as  to  what  period  should  be 
embraced  in  the  closed  season  for  Bob  Whites.  It  must 
depend  to  some  extent  upon  the  locality,  and  also  upon 
their  abundance,  and  even  upon  the  number  of  shooters 
who  pursue  them.  Where  they  are  plentiful,  and  there 
are  but  few  who  hunt  them,  nearly  all  the  non-breeding 
period  can  be  made  an  open  season,  beginning  with  the 
time  when  the  young  birds  are  old  enough  to  furnish 
sport,  and  ending  with  the  commencement  of  the  mating  - 
season — say  from  the  1st  of  October  until  the  1st  of 
April.  This  is  the  law  in  my  State,  and  in  this  immediate 
vicinity  Bob  Whites  are  not  decreasing  to  any  marked 
extent;  still  the  open  season  is  too  long.  The  heat  and 
heavy  cover,  and  the  immaturity  of  many  of  the  birds, 
make  it  better  that  the  season  should  open  November 
1st.  It  should  not  extend  beyond  March  15th,  and  it 
would  perhaps  be  well,  in  this  latitude,  to  close  it  March 
1st — that  is,  let  the  open  season  be  the  months  of  Novem- 
ber, December,  January,  and  February.  This  would 
give  only  four  months'  shooting,  but  it  would  enable  us, 
like  well-conducted  banks,  to  accumulate  a  reserve  fund, 
rather  than,  like  reckless  spendthrifts,  to  overdraw  our 
accounts  and  become  bankrupt.  Where  birds  have 
become  scarce,  and  the  sportsmen  are  very  numerous,  it 
is  necessary  that  the  open  season  be  short.  The  reports  I 
have  received  from  Indiana  go  to  show  that  Bob  Whites 
have  rather  increased  in  that  State,  owing  in  part  to  the 
mild  winters,  and  partly  to  a  well-enforced  game  law, 
which  has  only  from  October  15th  to  December  20th  as 
an  open  season.  In  extreme  cases,  the  absolute  protec- 
tion of  Bob  Whites  for  several  years  has  been  found  most 
beneficial.  This  appears  to  be  the  case  in  the  Province 
of  Ontario.  From  persistent  shooting  and  hard  winters, 
the  birds  had  become  too  scarce  to  furnish  sport.  They 


BOB   WHITE.  157 

were  protected  for  three  years,  and  I  am  informed  that 
last  season  they  were  plentiful,  and  sport  was  excellent. 

The  exact  features  of  the  law  should  be  adapted  to 
the  wants  of  the  State  which  enacts  it,  and  due  attention 
must  be  paid  to  all  the  rights,  and  even  to  some  of  the 
prejudices,  of  the  community.  Game  laws  are  too  often 
considered  as  intended  to  benefit  the  town  and  "dude" 
sportsmen,  and  as  inimical  to  the  farmer.  This  is  to  be 
deplored.  Proper  game  laws,  well  executed,  are  more 
beneficial  to  the  farmers  and  the  farmer  sportsmen  than  to 
any  other  class.  It  enables  them  to  realize  a  source  of  rev- 
enue from  the  game  found  on  their  farms,  if  they  so  desire, 
and  it  secures  to  the  farmer  sportsmen  game  near  at  hand 
— a  most  desirable  thing  for  them,  for  they,  as  a  rule,  do 
not  visit  distant  sections  in  the  pursuit  of  game.  The  law 
which  enables  a  man  to  post  his  property  and  prevent 
trespassing  is  most  desirable;  for,  while  game  birds  are  the 
property  of  no  one,  still  the  owner  of  inclosed  premises 
should  have  the  right  to  say  who  may  hunt  and  fish 
thereon.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  gentleman  would  as  soon 
intrude. in  another's  parlor  as  in  his  field,  and  suchinstru- 
sions  should  be  met  alike  in  both  cases.  There  are  but 
few  farmers  who  object  to  the  proper  persons  hunting  on 
their  lands. 

Non-export  laws  are  excellent.  The  absolute  prohibi- 
tion of  shooting  Bob  Whites  for  the  market  is  desirable. 
The  destruction  of  their  eggs  and  netting  or  trapping  them 
should  be  prohibited  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  These 
and  other  provisions  can  be  inserted,  care  being  taken, 
however,  not  to  make  the  law  obnoxious.  The  penalty 
should  not  be  too  heavy.  If  you  put  it  at  $5  or  $10  for 
ordinary  shooting  out  of  season,  you  can  get  local  courts 
and  juries  to  convict;  and  this  penalty,  if  imposed  and 
collected,  will  be  amply  sufficient,  especially  where  the 
ever-present  court  costs  are  attached.  If  you  make  the 


158  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

penalty  too  heavy,  yon  practically  kill  the  law.  It  is  a 
good  idea  to  provide  that  the  fine  shall  go  to  the  public 
school  fund  of  the  nearest  municipal  subdivision  to  which 
it  can  be  legally  applied.  It  will  enable  the  prosecuting 
attorney  to  paint  the  game-butcher  in  dark  colors,  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  can  hold  up  before  the  jury  the 
bright-eyed  little  children  who  will  be  benefited  by  the 
fine  assessed.  Sportsmen  should  impress  upon  their  law- 
makers the  necessity  for  game  laws.  The  ambitious 
young  aspirant  for  the  legislature  is  ever  open  to  argu- 
ments of  this  sort.  Sportsmen,  as  a  rule,  are  active, 
intelligent,  and  influential  men,  and  they  can  do  much  in 
this  line.  I  don't  mean  that  the  sportsmen  shall  organ- 
ize a  sportsmen's  political  party — that  is  not  necessary; 
but  look  after  your  candidates  in  nominating  conventions 
and  primary  elections.  In  a  certain  county,  there  was 
an  officer  who  had  for  years  paid  undue  attention  to  the 
views  of  certain  poachers.  He  was  otherwise  an  excellent 
man,  but  he  was  not  educated  up  to  the  proper  standard 
on  the  subject  of  game  protection.  The  sportsmen  proper 
had  generally  supported  him  with  their  votes  anfl  influ- 
ence, but  finally  they  wearied  of  his  diplomacy,  and  he 
was  speedily  convinced  that  the  votes  of  a  score  of 
poachers  were  not  equivalent  to  the  active,  intelligent 
opposition  he  would  meet  from  the  sportsmen  of  his 
count}7,  some  of  whom  could  control  alone  more  than  a 
score  of  votes.  Game  protection  is  practical,  and  we 
should  look  at  it  as  practical  men,  not  as  sentimentalists. 
If  we  throw  the  proper  safeguards  around  our  game  birds, 
they  will  be  with  us  for  many  years  to  come — a  constant 
source  of  delight  and  pleasure.  Rewards  offered  for  the 
destruction  of  vermin  and  birds  of  prey,  would  conduce 
greatly  to  the  protection  of  our  game  birds;  but  our 
legislatures  are  slow  to  adopt  such  measures.  Sports- 
men's clubs  can,  however,  do  much  good  in  this  direction, 


BOB   WHITE.  159 

not  only  by  offering  such  rewards  as  they  can  afford  to 
pay,  but  by  having  side-hunts,  in  which  the  object  shall 
not  be  to  disgrace  themselves  by  striving  to  see  who  can 
most  worthily  wear  the  title  of  game-butcher,  but  by 
each  endeavoring  to  be  foremost  in  the  destruction  of 
furred,  feathered,  and  scaled  pot-hunters. 

In  the  foregoing  remarks,  I  have  treated  of  the  habits 
of  Bob  Whites  as  I  have  found  them,  and  as  they  have 
been  reported  to  me  by  intelligent,  practical  sportsmen, 
but  I  have  spoken  only  indirectly  of  the  pursuit  of  them 
as  game  birds,  and  the  proper  means  and  methods  for 
doing  so.  The  choice  you  will  make  here  will  depend 
very  largely  upon  the  kind  of  man  you  are.  I  write  this 
for  sportsmen,  not  for  the  garne-butcher,  whose  idea  of  a 
successful  day's  sport  is  the  number  of  birds  bagged, 
whose  gun  is  prized  simply  in  proportion  to  its  capacity 
for  exterminating  game,  and  who  esteems  his  dog  merely 
for  the  number  of  birds  he  can  find,  point,  and  retrieve, 
regardless  of  the  manner  in  which  it  is  done.  To  this 
miscalled  sportsman  I  have  nothing  to  say,  but  I  address 
the  true  sportsman,  the  one  who  enjoys  a  day's  sport 
not  so  much  for  the  destruction  of  life  as  for  the  pleasure 
he  derives  from  each  and  every  incident  connected  with 
it.  This  is  the  kind  of  man  one  should  select  as  a  com- 
panion for  a  day' s  shooting  on  Bob  Whites.  Let  him  be 
a  man  who  observes  closely,  compares  and  analyzes  the 
habits  and  characteristics  of  game  birds,  and  of  every- 
thing that  pertains  to  sportsmanship;  not  a  dull,  dry 
fellow,  but  one  in  whose  nature  there  is  something  of  the 
poet;  who  is  a  mental,  moral,  and  physical  epicure;  who 
can  enjoy  the  ranging  of  his  dog,  the  clean  execution  of 
his  gun,  the  swift  flight  of  the  bird,  its  wondrous  instincts 
for  self-preservation,  his  companion's  skill  and  success, 
and  everything  connected  with  sportsmanship,  with  an 
intense  satisfaction,  which  he  feels  and  appreciates  at  the 


160  UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

moment,  as  does  the  epicure  who  presses  some  savory 
viand  to  his  palate,  or  the  connoisseur  of  wine,  as  he 
leisurely  enjoys  the  rich  bouquet  and  fruity  flavor  of  some 
ancient  vintage;  or  even  as  the  strong,  vigorous  man  who 
feasts  his  eyes  on  the  delicate  beauty  and  refined  grace  of 
purest  womanhood.  This  is  the  spirit  with  which  the 
sportsman  should  enter  into  his  pleasures.  Secure  such  a 
man  for  your  companion  if  you  can,  and  strive  hard  that 
he  may  have  such  a  one  in  you. 

The  next  essential  is  not  the  gun,  but  the  dog.  The 
gun  is  merely  a  machine  or  insensate  instrument  in  your 
hands,  but  the  dog  is  more.  He  not  only  contributes  to 
your  sport,  but  he  enjoys  it  himself.  A  good  dog  is  more 
than  a  servant;  he  is  a  pleasant  companion,  a  tried  and 
trusted  friend.  For  the  pursuit  of  Bob  Whites,  sports- 
men are  divided  in  their  choice.  Many  prefer  the 
pointer,  others  the  setter,  while  some  are  admirers  equally 
of  both.  I,  like  others,  have  my  preference,  but  I 
believe  that  the  best  of  either  strain  are  of  about  equal 
merit,  and  are  good  enough  for  any  man.  In  selecting 
a  bird-dog,  the  prime  requisites  are,  of  course,  intelli- 
gence, disposition,  nose,  endurance,  speed,  and  courage; 
but  there  is  another  quality  which  he  should  possess  to  a 
high  degree,  and  that  is  the  one  commonly  called  "style" 
— a  quality  peculiar  to  the  dog  that  is  graceful  in  motion 
and  handsome  on  point;  whose  drawing  on  game  is  in 
itself  a  display  of  beauty,  and  which,  while  working 
single  birds,  will  spring  from  point  to  point  in  a  quick, 
accurate  manner;  who  retrieves  with  an  appearance  of 
absolute  pleasure,  not  going  after  the  dead  birds  like  a 
lazy  boy  sent  on  a  disagreeable  errand.  This  trait  can 
be  had  in  either  the  pointer  or  the  setter.  He  may  not 
give  any  more  points  than  an  ugly  brute,  who,  full  of  bird 
sense,  goes  with  wonderful  accuracy  from  covey  to  covey, 
and  trots  around  among  the  scattered  birds  in  a  slouch- 


BOB    WHITE.  161 

ing,  tramp -like  manner;  he  may  not  even  give  so  many 
points,  but  an  hour  with  such  a  dog  is  worth  a  week  over 
the  other.  The  Zulu  savage  and  the  Indian  buck  prize 
their  wives  largely  for  their  capacity  for  manual  labor  and 
their  coarser  physical  powers,  but  the  educated  man  of 
to-day  wishes  something  more  than  a  mere  beast  of  burden 
for  his  household  companion.  Civilization  has  developed 
his  greed  and  egotism  until  he  thinks  himself  worthy  of 
that  which  is  noblest  on  earth — a  beautiful,  refined,  and 
educated  woman.  So  the  true  sportsman  should  be  with 
his  dog.  This  kind  of  dog  is  difficult  to  obtain,  but  by 
careful  selection  it  is  obtainable. 

Look  well  to  the  qualities  of  your  dog's  ancestors,  as 
they  exhibited  them  in  the  field.  Probably  you  can  not 
see  many  of  them  yourself;  look,  then,  to  the  records  of 
our  field  trials,  which  have  done  more  to  develop  the  good 
qualities  of  our  bird-dogs  than  any  other  one  thing; 
but  don't  look  to  the  bench-show  records,  for  there  you 
will  get  but  little  information  which  is  useful,  and  much 
that  is  worse  than  useless.  If  you  can  do  so,  breed  and 
train  your  dog  yourself — he  will  then  be  more  a  part 
and  parcel  of  you ;  but  if  you  can  not,  procure  him  from 
some  breeder  of  reputation  and  reliability,  and  have  him 
well  and  thoroughly  trained;  then  keep  him  so.  Care- 
fully correct  every  sin,  whether  of  omission  or  commis- 
sion, with  gentle  but  positive  firmness.  Don't  get  into  a 
tempest  of  passion,  and  be  guilty  of  brutally  mistreating 
your  dog,  but  correct  all  faults  until  the  habit  of  obedi- 
ence gets  firmly  fixed.  Give  your  dog  all  the  experience 
possible,  as  without  it,  no  matter  how  fine  his  natural 
qualities,  and  how  thoroughly  he  may  have  been  drilled 
in  the  yard,  he  will  not  be  a  first-class  field-dog.  See,  too, 
that  his  physical  condition  is  perfect.  Nothing  irks  the 
true  sportsman  more  than  to  see  some  ignoramus  expect- 
ing first-class  work  of  a  good  dog,  which  is  either  in  bad 
11 


162  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

health,  or  else  overloaded  with  fat  and  in  soft  flesh. 
Last,  but  by  no  means  least,  get  your  dog's  confidence 
and  affection,  and  let  him  have  your  own.  Such  a  dog  as 
I  have  described  is  well  worthy  of  it — more  so,  perhaps, 
than  some  of  the  men  in  whose  society  you  take  pleasure. 
Until  your  dog  is  thoroughly  educated  and  trained,  let  the 
number  of  birds  bagged  be  a  matter  of  secondary  impor- 
tance. No  sportsman  is  likely  to  have  a  thoroughly 
trained  dog  unless  he  can  enjoy  leaving  his  gun  at  home, 
and  with  whip  and  whistle  work  his  dogs,  while  some 
friend  does  the  shooting. 

After  3'our  dog  is  thoroughly  trained,  with  the  habit 
of  obedience  firmly  fixed  (I  again  use  the  expression,  for 
it  seems  to  me  to  express  exactly  the  idea  which  I  wish 
to  convey),  you  can  enjoy  yourself  fully  in  pursuit  of « 
Bob  Whites,  undisturbed  by  the  many  petty  vexations 
which  are  entailed  upon  a  sportsman  by  the  use  of  half- 
trained  dogs.  A  man  can  hardly  overestimate  the  good 
qualities  of  a  first-class  field-dog,  but  there  are  men  who 
fail  properly  to  appreciate  our  canine  friends.  In  my 
kennel-yard  there  is  a  modest  little  tomb.,  covered  by  the 
twining  vines  of  the  honey-suckle,  which  also  coil 
around  a  marble  monument,  upon  which  is  chiseled  the 
name  of  a  faithful  pointer,  whose  remains  are  buried 
beneath  it.  This  tribute  of  respect  to  a  dumb  animal 
occasionally  elicits  expressions  of  surprise  from  some  of 
those  who  see  it.  It  is  a  matter  of  regret  to  me,  that  I 
can  not  read  to  them  a  poem  which  I  read  many  years  ago, 
and  enjoyed  intensely,  but  which  I  have  never  been  able 
to  find  again.  It  was  to  me  full  of  pathos.  A  man  of 
strange  appearance,  travel-stained  and  worn,  entered  the 
studio  of  a  famous  Grecian  sculptor.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  a  noble  dog,  which,  like  his  master,  showed 
the  effects  of  age  and  want.  The  stranger,  drawing  from 
his  ragged  vestments  a  precious  stone,  graven  with  a 


BOB   WHITE.  163 

device  of  Eastern  royalty,  asked  the  sculptor  if  he  would 
take  it  as  a  fee  for  carving  a  statue  of  the  dog.  The 
great  man  scornfully  replied  that  he  would  not  degrade 
his  genius  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  a  beast.  The 
visitor  then  told  his  tale.  It  was  of  kingly  birth  and 
wealth,  of  rebellion  and  bitter  treachery.  He  told  how 
his  subjects  had  revolted,  his  friends  had  betrayed,  and 
even  the  wife  of  his  bosom  had  deserted  him,  but  how. 
through  all,  the  faithful  dog  stood  by  his  master;  and  he 
closed  his  pathetic  appeal  with  these  words: 

,     "  Ay!  stranger,  but  a  dog,  a  beast; 

But  of  all  earth's  creatures  not  the  least." 

The  sculptor  bowed  his  head,  and  made  due  apology. 
He  declined  to  take  the  jewel,  but  in  his  city,  for  many 
centuries,  could  be  seen  the  choicest  product  of  his 
chisel — a  faithful  likeness  of  the  noble  dog. 

In  selecting  a  gun,  I  would  use  the  advice  of  Polonius 
to  his  son  about  dress.  Let  it  be  as  "costly  as  your 
purse  can  buy,"  with  justice  to  your  other  wants  and 
necessities;  adapt  it,  also,  to  your  strength  and  skill.  No 
gun  for  field-shooting  should  weigh  over  eight  pounds, 
and  from  that  down  to  five  and  a  half,  according  to  the 
gauge.  I  would  earnestly  recommend  the  hammeiiess, 
on  the  ground  of  both  convenience  and  safety.  During 
one  hunting-season,  I  noticed  all  the  various  accounts  of 
hunters  who  were  injured  by  the  accidental  discharge  of 
guns,  and  where  sufficient  particulars  were  given,  it  was 
evident  that  fully  three-fourths  of  such  accidents  would 
not  have  happened  had  the  gun  been  a  hammerless.  If 
you  can  afford  but  one  gun,  and  shoot  wild  fowl  to  any 
great  extent,  you  may  find  it  necessary  to  use  a  ten-gauge 
gun  on  Bob  Whites,  but  don't  put  your  duck  charges  in 
it.  It  is  not  giving  the  little  fellows  a  fair  show.  Re- 
duce your  ammunition  somewhat,  shoot  in  a  sportsman- 
like manner,  and  don't  permit  some  unreasonable  bigot 


164  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

to  call  you  a  boor  and  butcher  because  your  weapon  is  so 
much  larger  than  his  little  sixteen-gauge.  Still,  I  think 
that  the  twelve-gauge  is  as  large  as  should  be  used  on 
Bob  Whites.  If  you  are  an  exquisite  shot,  you  can  get 
down  as  low  as  a  twenty-gauge;  that  altogether  depends 
upon  the  individual  and  his  tastes.  The  gun  most  gen- 
erally used  is  good  enough,  being  a  seven  and  a  half 
pound  twelve-gauge.  The  barrels  should  be  cylinder,  or 
only  slightly  choked.  There  is  a  world  of  nonsense  writ- 
ten about  the  shooting  qualities  of  guns.  The  guns  of 
all  standard  makes  shoot  about  alike.  The  greater 
superiority  of  the  finer  guns  is  not  in  their  shooting  quali- 
ties, but  because  they  are  more  handsome  to  look  at, 
handle  better,  and  are  much  more  durable.  Get  a  gun 
that  suits  you  fairly  well,  and  then  stick  to  it.  Chang- 
ing guns  is  like  changing  friends — a  risky  business. 
In  Bob  White  shooting,  for  such  a  gun  as  I  have 
mentioned,  a  charge  of  three  and  a  half  drams  of 
powder  and  one  or  one  and  one-eighth  ounces  of  shot 
will  generally  do  well;  but  guns  apparently  the  same 
will  shoot  better  with  different  charges.  Test  your  gun 
thoroughly  for  pattern  and  penetration  at  a  rack-target; 
find  out  the  proper  charge,  and  then  stick  to  that.  The 
smokeless  niter  powders  are  especially  desirable  in  field- 
shooting.  The  size  of  shot  should  be  from  No.  10  to 
No.  8;  or,  rather,  No.  8  shot  will  do  the  season  through 
as  well  as  any.  Some  prefer  the  chilled,  others  the 
soft.  I  could  never  see  any  particular  difference  in 
their  killing  powers.  The  other  portion  of  a  sports- 
man's outfit  I  will  not  discuss.  Everyone  knows  what 
suits  him  best,  and  a  little  experience  will  teach  him 
what  he  really  needs.  Let  the  lunch-bag  be  well  filled, 
and  the  whisky-bottle  conspicuously  absent,  The  man- 
ner of  hunting  Bob  Whites — or  shooting  them,  if  you 
prefer  it  —  differs  widely  in  various  sections.  In  the 


BOB   WHITE.  165 

North  and  East,  where  the  fields  are  small  and  the  fences 
difficult  to  let  down,  the  sportsmen  generally  go  on  foot; 
in  the  South  and  West,  the  hunters  usually  ride  until 
the  coveys  are  found,  and  then  dismount  to  work  up  the 
scattered  birds.  This  requires  the  highest  type  of  dog. 
He  is  expected  to  range  farther  and  faster,  and  conse- 
quently to  have  more  endurance,  than  is  necessary  in  a 
dog  which  must  keep  within  sight  of  a  man  on  foot.  He 
must  also  be  better  trained,  for  he  is  at  one  moment  re- 
quired to  range  far  out  in  search  of  coveys,  and  the  next 
he  is  called  to  work  the  ground  closely  for  scattered  birds. 
I  do  not  wish,  however,  to  be  understood  as  saying  that 
the  dogs  of  the  South  and  West  are  superior  to  those  of 
the  East;  being  of  the  same  blood,  their  natural  qualities 
are  practically  the  same;  but  dogs  hunted  by  mounted 
sportsmen  are  not  only  required  to  cover  more  ground, 
but  should  also  be  better  trained,  as  they  are  not  so 
directly  under  their  handler's  control.  For  this  very 
reason,  however,  they  are  frequently  not  so  well  'trained. 
They  do  admirable  covey  work,  but  are  less  steady  to 
wing  and  shot,  and  less  inclined  to  work  ground  closely 
for  scattered  birds. 

Bob  Whites  roost  at  night  in  a  circle,  with  their  heads 
outward,  as  if  to  guard  against  surprise  in  every  direc- 
tion. Early  in  the  morning,  if  the  weather  is  pleasant, 
they  start  out  to  feed,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  a 
feeding  covey,  and  see  the  contented  industry,  and  I  might 
almost  say  the  jolly  good-nature,  with  which  they  search 
for  food.  Toward  noon  their  appetites  are  satisfied,  and 
they  will  seek  some  comfortable  place  for  a  midday  rest. 
If  the  day  be  cold  and  bleak,  they  will  stop  on  some  sunny 
southern  exposure.  If  it  be  hot  and  sultry,  they  will 
seek  some  cool  and  shady  place.  Later  in  the  day  they 
will  again  start  forth  to  forage,  and,  if  undisturbed,  will 
generally  return  to  their  last  night's  roosting-place. 


166  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

They  occasionally,  but  by  no  means  always,  take  wing 
and  fly  to  the  place  where  they  propose  to  spend  the 
night.  This,  I  believe,  is  generally  done  when  they  have 
been  recently  disturbed  by  foxes  or  other  animals,  which 
trail  them  up  by  scent. 

Some  sportsmen  prefer  to  shoot  alone,  but  a  pleasant 
companion,  while  he  may  diminish  your  bag,  should  more 
than  double  your  sport.  With  rare  exceptions,  the  days 
when  I  have  shot  alone  are  now  overlooked  and  forgot- 
ten, while  those  spent  afield  with  some  chosen  friend  are 
treasured  up  as  precious  reminiscences,  to  gladden  my 
heart  as  I  glance  back  along  the  mile-stones  of  the  past. 
On  the  other  hand,  some  of  my  most  exasperating  recol- 
lections are  of  days  of  so-called  sport,  where  four  or  five 
endeavored  to  shoot  together.  In  shooting,  as  in  love- 
making,  "two  is  company,  but  three  is  a  crowd."  For 
this  section,  I  consider  the  acme  of  pleasant  sport  to  be 
had  by  two  friends,  well  mounted  and  equipped,  with  a 
brace  of  well-trained,  experienced  dogs  of  fine  natural 
qualities,  attended  by  an  intelligent,  active  servant,  also 
well  mounted,  whose  duty  it  is  to  carry  the  bulk  of  the 
ammunition,  the  game  and  luncheon,  to  let  down  fences, 
mark  down  birds,  and  lead  up  the  horses  when  desirable. 
This  is  rather  a  lazy  method,  but  the  man  who  pursues  it 
from  sunrise  till  dark  will  have  an  abundance  of  exercise; 
but  while  this  is  my  preference,  I  have  great  respect  for 
the  athlete  who  on  foot  keeps  up  with  his  good  dogs 
throughout  the  day.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  taste, 
after  all. 

I  would  here  suggest  that  every  sportsman  keep  a  diary 
in  which  to  enter  briefly  or  at  length,  as  he  may  prefer, 
an  account  of  each  day"  s  sport.  He  will  find  it  a  useful 
reference  and  a  source  of  pleasure.  It  will  make  him 
more  accurate  in  his  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  game 
birds  and  animals,  and  benefit  him  in  many  other  respects. 


BOB    WHITE.  167 

He  should,  however,  avoid  making  himself  a  servant  to 
his  diary,  and  should  also,  if  possible,  keep  his  record 
accurate  and  correct.  Exaggeration  about  matters  pertain- 
ing to  field-sports  seems  to  be  a  weakness  peculiar  to  man, 
but  a  sportsman's  diary  should  be  as  truthful  as  human 
nature  will  permit;  otherwise  it  possesses  but  little  real 
value. 

There  is  a  wide  diiference  of  opinion  among  practical 
sportsmen  as  to  the  proper  manner  of  aiming  at  moving 
game.  I  do  not  know  why  this  is.  It  may  be  that  with 
some  there  is  more  thorough  sympathy  and  closer  connec- 
tion between  the  will-power  and  the  nervous  system  than 
there  is  with  others.  The  former  resemble  the  present 
percussion  fire-arms,  and  discharge  their  guns  simulta- 
neously with  aiming;  while  the  latter  resemble  the  old 
flint-lock  pieces,  and  require  more  time  between  the  fixing 
of  their  aim  and  firing.  The  former  will  advocate  the 
holding  on  theory,  the  latter  will  believe  in  holding  ahead, 
when,  in  fact,  their  shooting  is  practically  the  same.  Not 
long  since,  I  went  on  board  a  steamboat  chartered  by  a 
fishing-party.  Among  the  party  were  two  gentlemen  who 
are  by  many  considered  to  be  the  best  duck-shots  in 
North  Louisiana.  The  proper  method  of  aiming  at  ducks 
was  discussed.  One  of  these  gentlemen  was  an  extreme 
advocate  of  holding  ahead,  while  the  other,  with  equal 
earnestness,  insisted  that  one  should  hold  on,  or  nearly 
on,  the  game.  Of  course  the  gun  should  be  so  pointed 
that  the  line  taken  by  the  shot  and  that  traveled  by  the 
bird  will  intersect  each  other.  If  the  bird  is  flying  either 
directly  to  or  from  you,  and  getting  higher,  aim  above  it. 
If  getting  lower,  aim  beneath  it.  If  crossing  to  the  right 
or  left,  aim  in  front— just  how  much  will  depend  upon 
the  shooter,  and  experience  only  can  educate  him.  No 
quantity  of  book-reading  can  give  him  this  information 
and  skill.  I  would  advise  the  beginner  to  avoid  snap- 


168  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

shooting,  and  to  take  only  the  plain  and  open  shots;  to 
take  notice  how  he  aims,  and  observe  closely  the  result. 
He  should,  on  the  other  hand,  avoid  shooting  too  slowly. 
As  his  skill  increases,  let  him  undertake  to  make  the  more 
difficult  shots  with  increased  quickness,  until  it  is  with 
him  automatic  to  calculate  while  raising  his  gun  the  dis- 
tance to  the  bird,  and  the  direction  and  speed  of  its  flight, 
and  to  aim  so  that  the  center  of  his  charge  will  strike  it 
down  with  reasonable  certainty;  then  he  will  have  the 
right  to  consider  himself  an  expert  in  all  Sports  Pteri- 
plegistic,  so  far  as  marksmanship  is  concerned. 

The  distance  at  which  Bob  Whites  are  killed,  and  the 
percentage  of  successful  shots,  are,  I  believe,  both  gen- 
erally overestimated  by  sportsmen.  Fully  two-thirds,  if 
not  three-fourths,  of  the  birds  bagged  are  killed  under 
thirty  yards.  Nearly  all  the  others  are  brought  down 
under  forty  yards.  Those  who  kill  frequently  at  sixty 
and  eighty  yards,  do  it  in  their  rocking-chairs  or  on 
paper;  they  don't  do  it  in  the  field.  As  to  the  percent- 
age of  the  killing  shots,  where  the  sportsman  takes  all 
reasonable  chances,  shooting  in  the  brush  as  well  as  in 
the  open,  I  believe  that  40  per  cent,  is  a  fair  average. 
Those  of  us  who  have  shot  a  great  deal,  occasionally  make 
some  wonderful  scores;  these  we  remember,  and  rate  our 
skill  by  them.  We  forget  our  "off"  days,  when  we 
would  make  a  half-dozen  consecutive  misses.  It  is  with 
ease  that  I  can  recall  my  runs  of  fifteen  or  twenty  birds 
killed  clean  without  a  miss,  but  it  requires  considerable 
mental  effort  to  remember  the  days  when  my  repeated 
misses  made  even  my  good  dogs  wear  an  expression  of 
vexation  and  disgust. 

Of  all  field-sports,  the  shooting  of  Bob  Whites  is  the 
most  refined,  and  the  surroundings  pertain  most  closely 
to  civilization.  The  wild-fowler  stands  alone  amid  bleak 
surroundings;  the  snipe-shooter  must  plod  his  way 


BOB   WHITE.  169 

through  marsh  and  ooze;  the  deer-hunter,  in  the  forest, 
listens  for  the  fierce  cry  of  the  savage  pack,  which  he 
hopes  will  bring  the  flying  deer  to  his  stand;  he  who 
seeks  the  bear,  must  follow  him  through  swamps  and 
morass,  or  through  chaparral  and  canon — but  it  is  not  so 
with  those  who  would  bag  Bob  Whites.  There  the  sur- 
roundings are  fields  and  farms.  Intense  excitement  may 
be  wanting,  but  there  are  unbounded  opportunities  for 
great  pleasure  and  enjoyment,  provided  we  but  educate 
ourselves  to  appreciate  them ;  and  we  should  endeavor  to 
assist  in  educating  others,  especially  the  rising  genera- 
tion, who,  with  active  limbs  and  bright,  keen  eyes,  are  to 
take  our  places  when  age  and  infirmity  will  cause  the 
fields  to  know  us  no  more.  The  boy  has  no  hero  worship 
more  devout  than  for  the  man  whom  he  believes  to  be  a 
thorough  sportsman.  Let  us  try  to  be  worthy  of  it,  and 
to  inculcate,  by  act  as  well  as  by  precept,  the  principles 
of  true  sportsmanship  in  the  lads  around  us.  Let  us  teach 
them  to  look  for  pleasurable  excitement  to  field-sports, 
rather  than  to  the  gambling-hell,  the  dance-hall,  and  the 
saloon.  If  we  do  this  much,  we  shall  not  have  lived  in 
vain;  and  to  accomplish  this,  I  know  of  no  better  means 
than  the  proper  pursuit  of  that  gallant  gentleman,  our 
little  friend  Bob  White. 


SHARP-TAILED  GROUSE. 


(170) 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,  SPRUCE   GROUSE, 
AND  PTARMIGANS. 


BY  WALTER  M.  WOLFE  ("  SHOSHOXE  "). 


|OME  years  ago,  a  party  of  sportsmen  en- 
camped one  evening  on  the  bank  of  a 
famous  trout- stream  in  Southern  Idaho. 
For  two  days  they  had  traveled  northward 
across  the  desert,  wasting  ammunition 
upon  sage-hens  that  were  so  highly  flavored  with  the  rank 
young  shoots  of  artemisia  as  to  be  absolutely  unpal- 
atable, and  upon  jack-rabbits  that  were  also  left  to  the 
coyotes;  but  now  they  were  in  game-land,  on  a  grassy 
plateau,  beside  clear  waters  fringed  with  bear-berries  and 
quaking  aspens,  and  all  recollections  of  dust,  fatigue,  and 
thirst  were  lost  in  anticipation  of  the  morrow. 

Daylight  found  us  stirring,  and,  after  a  cup  of  coffee, 
we  started,  with  approved  tackle,  to  woo  the  speckled 
trout.  Of  course  guns  were  left  in  camp;  our  dependence 
was  upon  rod  and  rifle.  Scarcely  had  we  gone  100 
yards  from  the  tent,  when  from  the  thicket  in  front 
of  us  came  a  whir,  and  a  flock  of  grouse  arose  straight 
in  air,  and  then  glided  swiftly  away,  with  so  slight  a 
motion  of  the  wings  that  they  seemed  propelled  by  some 
invisible  power.  The  manner  of  flight,  and  the  loud 
"cuk,  cuk,  cuk,"  were  proofs  positive  that  we  had  some- 
thing new  in  the  game  line,  and,  as  the  birds  dropped 
within  200  yards,  it  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  get 
the  breech-loaders  and  reach  the  spot  we  had  marked. 
When  within  twenty  yards  of  them  they  flushed,  and  we 


172 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


secured  three  of  the  covey.  By  the  time  we  had  brought 
our  birds  to  camp,  I  had  learned  three  lessons — to  load 
with  No.  8  shot  instead  of  with  No.  6,  to  let  the  birds  get 
well  under  way  before  shooting,  and,  last,  but  not  least, 
to  waste  no  time  in  searching  for  a  lost  or  wounded  bird. 
If  no  dogs  are  with  the  party,  the  most  careful  marking 
will  be  fruitless. 

The  preparation  of  the  birds  for  the  frying-pan  gave 
us  an  opportunity  to  study  their  distinguishing  charac- 


teristics. Longer  than  the  pinnated  grouse,  they  are 
much  less  compact,  and  they  lack  the  pointed  neck- 
feathers  of  the  prairie  fowl.  The  tail  is  long,  wedge- 
shaped,  and  contains  eighteen  feathers,  the  central  pair 
being  elongated  a  full  inch  beyond  the  rest.  The  dense 
feathering  of  the  tarsi,  extending  onto  the  toes,  the  stout 
bill,  the  papillous,  naked  skin  above  the  eye,  bordered 
externally  by  feathers,  are  important  marks  in  the  deter- 
mination of  the  species.  The  plumage  is  unique.  Above, 
a  light  brown  (buff  rather  than  rusty)  always  predomi- 
nates over  black  markings,  in  bars  rather  than  in  spots. 
The  scapulars  are  marked  by  broad,  elliptical,  central  spots 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,  ETC.  173 

of  white,  and  there  are  similar  roundish  spots  upon  the 
wing-coverts.  The  head  and  neck  are  a  brownish  buff, 
which 'shades  into  pure  white  on  the  breast.  On  the 
throat  are  dusky  spots,  which,  on  the  breast,  become  rich 
brown,  Y-shaped  lines — the  conspicuous  and  distinctive 
markings  of  the  bird.  The  feathering  of  the  feet  is  a 
pale  gray.  It  took  a  shorter  time  to  pick  the  birds  than 
to  describe  them,  and  with  the  drawing  came  another 
surprise.  Not  a  tint  of  s;jge  could  be  detected,  and  the 
crop  was  full  of  rose-fruit,  wild  currants,  bear-berries, 
and  other  mountain  delicacies,  thereby  proving  them  to 
have  been  dainty  feeders.  The  flesh  was  light-colored, 
tender,  juicy,  and  we  considered  it  the  choicest  of  our 
Rocky  Mountain  game  birds.  Such  was  my  introduction 
to  the  "white-belly,"  "willow  grouse,"  and  "spotted 
chicken"  of  the  cow-boy  and  the  mountaineer,  the  sharp- 
tailed  grouse  of  the  sportsman,  and  the  PediocaetespJiasi- 
anellus  columbianus  of  the  naturalist.  The  name  willow 
grouse  is  also  applied  to  the  ptarmigans,  though  they  are 
generally  known  as  white  or  mountain  quail.  Similar 
to  the  male,  but  smaller,  and  with  tail-feathers  shorter, 
is  the  female. 

The  Columbian  sharp-tailed  grouse  is  common  in  the 
region  north  of  Great  Salt  Lake  and  west  of  the  Black 
Hills.  East  of  the  mountains,  its  place  is  taken  by  the 
prairie  sharp-tailed  grouse,  the  rusty  color  of  the  latter 
being  the  principal  specific  difference.  The  sharp-tail  of 
the  mountains  belongs  to  the  region  of  the  quaking  aspens, 
of  purple  bear-berries,  and  of  white  mountain  columbine; 
to  the  beautiful  valleys  that  are  to  be  found  at  an  altitude 
of  6,000  feet,  between  the  sage-brush  and  the  pines, 
between  the  home  of  the  cock-of-the-plains  and  the  haunts 
of  the  ptarmigans. 

With  the  first  signs  of  spring,  long  before  the  leaves 
appear  or  the  grass  is  green,  the  birds  fly  from  the  thickets 


174  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

of  pine  and  cedar  where  they  have  passed  the  winter,  and 
come  down  to  the  streams,  near  which  they  will  live  until 
cold  weather  again  drives  them  into  winter  quarters. 
They  do  not  arrive  in  families,  but  in  groups — the  young 
males  first,  then,  one  by  one,  the  old  cocks,  heroes  of 
many  a  battle,  and  last,  the  females.  No  chaperon  ever 
assigned  quarters  to  a  camping-party  with  a  greater  sense 
of  propriety  than  is  observed  by  the  old  hens  in  selecting 
a  roosting  and  feeding  place  for  themselves  and  for  the 
tender  pullets.  All  courtship  must  be  carried  on  in  an 
open  manner,  and  there  must  be  no  peeping  behind  the 
scenes,  so,  for  a  few  days,  the  sexes  remain  apart;  but, 
with  the  warm  "chinook,"  the  males  tire  of  their  life  of 
celibacy.  The  papillous  membrane  over  the  eye  becomes 
inflamed,  and  the  hens  look  forth  in  admiration  as  their 
lords  strut  around  the  grove  in  hopes  of  drawing  some 
mate  from  the  seclusion  of  the  bower;  but  this  method 
of  securing  a  partner  is  futile,  so  the  oft-described  dance 
of  the  grouse  comes  next  upon  the  programme.  In  their 
parades,  the  males  have  tramped  a  smooth  place  a  few 
yards  square,  and  this  they  convert  into  a  ball-room.  At 
first  only  the  old  birds  take  part  in  the  exercise.  Their 
neck-feathers  are  expanded,  and,  with  wings  trailed,  yet 
constantly  vibrating,  they  commence  with  stately  measure, 
now  on  this  side  of  the  circle,  now  on  that,  yet  always 
within  sight  of  the  object  of  their  devotion.  Often  they 
pretend  to  fight,  but  their  belligerent  attitude  is  assumed 
only  for  effect.  When  one  tires,  he  gives  a  satisfied  cluck, 
and  goes  among  the  hens  to  secure  compliments  upon  his 
Chesterfieldian  appearance,  and  then,  having  satisfied 
his  egotistical  emotions,  returns  to  the  floor.  All  this 
time  the  younger  males  survey  the  stamping-ground  with 
envious  eyes.  At  length,  one  of  the  more  daring  makes 
a  break  for  a  prominent  position,  and  proceeds  to  emulate 
his  elders.  Such  an  intrusion  is  not  tolerated  without  a. 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  175 

t 

fight,  but  if  the  youngster  proves  game,  and  stands  his 
ground,  he  is  soon  admitted  as  an  equal,  and  bows  to  his 
confreres  and  to  the  admiring  pullets  with  as  much 
dignity  as  though  he  were  an  old  hand  at  the  business. 
Only  the  cowards  are  kept  out  of  the  charmed  ring,  and 
these,  I  believe,  go  without  a  mate  until  another  spring; 
but,  like  all  other  good  things,  the  time  of  courtship 
must  come  to  an  end.  One  by  one  the  dancers  stop  their 
evolutions,  one  by  one  they  go  to  the  females,  and  each 
walks  a  few  times  about  his  inamorata;  then,  together, 
the  pair  leaves  the  band,  and,  like  Hiawatha  and  Minne- 
haha,  walks  slowly  through  the  forest  to  make  a  new 
home.  The  dance  may  last  for  several  days,  as  all  do  not 
participate  at  one  time;  but  at  its  close  the  breeding- 
season  has  fairly  commenced,  and  the  few  males  who 
have  not  secured  mates  remain  by  themselves  until 
the  fall  pack.  Sharp-tailed  grouse  are  rarely,  if  ever, 
gregarious,  and  the  male  proves  a  faithful  and  helpful 
husband. 

As  the  female  feels  the  maternal  instinct,  and  the  time 
of  incubation  approaches,  she  selects  a  place  for  a  nest — 
not  in  the  grove  of  quaking  aspens,  not  among  the  lordly 
pines,  nor  yet  among  the  tall,  rank  grasses  of  the  upland 
valleys,  but  in  some  thicket  of  wild  roses,  in  some  clump 
of  purple-blossomed  arctostaphyllos,  where  the  low-hung 
foliage  forms  a  perfect  screen,  she  lays  her  eggs.  The 
place  of  her  choice  is  not  far  from  a  stream.  While  she 
is  upon  the  nest  the  male  is  never  far  distant.  He  is  a 
warrior- sentinel,  and,  while  I  do  not  know  that  he  ever 
relieves  her  in  her  duty,  he  not  infrequently  brings  her 
some  dainty  morsel  that  he  has  picked  up  on  his  rambles. 
The  nest  is  a  rude  affair,  constructed  of  coarse  grasses  and 
dried  leaves  scratched  together,  sometimes  in  a  slight 
depression,  but  more  frequently  upon  the  level  ground. 
From  twelve  to  fifteen  eggs  are  deposited.  They  are 


176  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

olive-green  in  color,  speckled  with  a  rich  dark-brown. 
In  size  they  are  slightly  larger  than  the  eggs  of  the  prairie 
chicken,  and  are  longer,  proportionally,  than  are  those 
of  the  ruffed  grouse. 

Late  in  April  in  the  southern  Snake  River  country,  and 
by  the  middle  of  May  or  the  first  of  June  north  of  the 
Co3ur  d' Alene,  the  young  brood  is  hatched,  and  at  this 
time  a  coolness  arises  upon  the  part  of  the  male.  He  does 
not  desert  the  hen  until  the  young  are  able  to  fly,  but  he 
remains  at  a  respectful  distance.  The  downy  young  are 
a  bright  buff y  yellow,  the  upper  parts  tinged  reddish,  and 
coarsely  marbled  with  black;  the  fore  part  of  the  head  all 
around  is  immaculate,  and  a  small  black  spot  is  apparent 
on  the  middle  of  the  crown.  Before  they  are  able  to  fly, 
the  mother  resorts  to  every  artifice  to  prevent  the  dis- 
covery of  her  brood.  In  her  tricks  she  closely  resembles 
the  partridge.  As  best  suits  her  purpose,  she  sulks 
through  the  bushes  or  rises  and  flies  away  with  a  loud 
whir,  and  then,  when  danger  is  past,  she  rejoins  her 
offspring,  and  calls  them  together  with  cluck  and  action 
of  the  barn-yard  fowl.  As  they  grow  older,  the  rusty 
plumage  of  the  back  becomes  a  darker  brown,  spotted  and 
barred  with  black  and  conspicuously  streaked  with  white, 
and  the  lower  parts  change  to  a  dull  white,  spotted  with 
dusky.  Not  until  after  their  first  moult  do  the  clear-cut, 
V-shaped  markings  become  prominent. 

During  May,  June,  and  July,  the  chicks  thrive  and 
fatten.  From  their  mother  they  acquire  a  fearless  dis- 
position, that  prompts  them,  when  disturbed,  to  draw 
themselves  close  to  the  ground  rather  than  to  seek  safety 
in  flight;  and  so  closely  do  they  resemble  in  hue  the 
mountain  vegetation,  that  it  takes  sharp  eyes  to  discover 
them  when  once  the  buffy  down  of  infancy  is  lost.  The 
female,  while  incubating,  will  suffer  herself  to  be  almost 
trodden  upon  before  she  will  leave  her  nest,  and  were  it 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  177 

not  for  her  sparkling  eyes,  she  would  seldom,  if  ever,  be 
discovered. 

Were  sportsmen' s  ethics  in  the  mountains  what  they 
should  be,  the  birds  would  not  be  hunted  before  the 
middle  of  August,  at  which  time,  if  the  reader  will,  we 
shall  take  a  trip  for  them.  Our  weapons  must  be  a  gun 
for  grouse,  a  rifle  for  deer,  bears,  and  other  large  game, 
and  rods  suitable  for  trout  or  salmon,  according  as  we 
camp  by  brook,  river,  or  lake.  For  this  early  shooting 
a  light  16-gauge  breech-loader  is  just  the  thing,  and  the 
shells  should  be  loaded  with  3£  drams  of  powder  and  an 
ounce  of  No.  10  shot.  Heavier  charges  and  No.  8,  or 
even  No.  6,  shot  will  do  late  in  the  autumn;  but  in  sum- 
mer shooting  the  birds  will  make  only  short  flights,  and 
they  will  never  rise  until  they  are  compelled  to  do  so. 
The  straight  rise  and  straight-away  flight  give  the  sports- 
man ample  opportunity  for  covering  them,  and  his 
trouble  will  be  that  he  peppers  the  young  and  tender 
fowl  so  full  of  pellets  that  they  are  difficult  to  pluck  and 
clean,  and  are  much  more  liable  to  spoil. 

Sharp-tailed  grouse  being  one  of  the  principal  objects 
of  our  expedition,  we  must  have  a  team  of  good  pointers 
—dogs  that  will  range  freely,  and  that,  when  a  bird  has 
dropped,  will  not  quickly  give  up  the  search  for  it.  In 
these  altitudes,  a  setter  is  much  more  apt  to  get  out  of 
condition  than  is  a  pointer;  and  the  long,  arid  deserts 
that  must  be  traversed,  from  stream  to  stream,  tell  upon 
the  constitution  of  a  water-loving  dog. 

No  matter  whether  our  route  be  from  the  south  or  the 
east,  we  must  cross  a  hot,  dusty,  sage-covered  desert  in 
coming  into  Southern  Idaho — a  region  that  tries  the  tem- 
pers of  the  best  of  friends;  but  game-land  is  just  ahead, 
and  the  green  tints  and  white  patches  that  cover  the 
mountain-sides  become  hourly  more  distinct,  and  at  last, 

late  in  the  hot  summer  afternoon,  we  reach  our  destination. 
12 


178  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

It  is  a  level  park,  four  or  five  acres  in  extent,  covered 
with  rich  grasses  that  reach  the  backs  of  our  horses. 
About  three  sides  of  the  camping-ground  is  a  brook,  clear 
as  crystal,  save  where  it  dashes  into  white  spray  amid 
rocks  and  riffles,  and  cold  as  the  snow-banks  whence  it 
springs.  The  fourth  side  is  a  bluff,  and  beyond  this  the 
plateau  stretches  away  to  the  mountains.  The  brook  is 
girt  with  willows  and  other  shrubbery,  and  upon  it  open 
canons,  where  the  trembling  aspen  grows  and  where  the 
black- tailed  deer  rest£  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  Peaks, 
capped  with  eternal  snow,  seem  almost  within  rifle-shot, 
and  just  below  the  snow-line  are  forests  of  pine.  Horses 
are  soon  hobbled  or  picketed,  the  tent  is  set  up,  a  string 
of  trout  is  caught;  then  supper  and  bed-time  crowd  on 
apace,  and  hardly  have  wTe  fallen  into  a  good  sound  sleep 
ere  another  morning  is  upon  us,  and  we  arise  with  the 
matin-song  of  the  warblers.  Lest  our  occupations 
become  monotonous,  we  divide,  after  .breakfast,  into 
three  parties — one  with  rifles  to  go  up  among  the  quaking 
aspens,  another  to  explore  the  stream  with  rod  and  reel, 
and  the  third,  with  guns  and  dogs,  to  beat  the  thickets 
for  birds.  During  our  stay  here  it  will  be  a  poor  repast 
at  which  we  do  not  sit  down  to  broiled  venison  steak, 
fried  grouse,  speckled  trout,  with  an  occasional  teal  or 
widgeon,  and  to  sauces  of  wild  currants  or  gooseberries, 
stewed  "sarvice-berries,"  and  sweet  black-caps;  but  it 
is  hardly  time  to  discuss  supper,  as  we  start  out  after 
breakfast,  ready  for  the  work  of  the  day,  lightly  clad  in 
suits  of  canvas.  We  wear  thick-soled,  laced  shoes  in 
preference  to  boots,  as  we  have  no  climbing.  The  grouse 
will  fly  up  and  down  stream,  but  not  across  the  bluffs  on 
either  side.  Unless  they  scatter  in  the  aspens,  our  path 
will  be  as  level  as  a  floor.  Crossing  the  brook,  our  dogs 
range  well,  and  we  follow  at  an  easy  pace.  Suddenly 
they  catch  the  scent,  wheel,  and  slowly  advance  toward  a 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  179 

dense  thicket,  where  they  stiffen  to  a  dead  point.  There 
is  no  hurry.  The  birds  are  young,  and  this  is  their  first 
interview  with  dog  or  man.  They  do  not  run  or  try  to 
hide — just  squat  composedly,  as  though  believing  that  we 
could  overlook  them;  but,  alas!  their  cunning  is  fatal. 
We  get  close  to  them  before  they  are  flushed,  and  then, 
as  they  sail  away,  give  them  the  contents  of  four  barrels. 
It  takes  but  a  glance  to  mark  them  down,  as  their  flight 
is  unwavering.  The  dogs  will  get  the  dead;  let  us  look 
after  the  cripples.  There  is  one  that  is  winged;  it  no 
longer  resorts  to  its  old  tactics,  but  hurries  away,  as  fast 
as  its  legs  will  carry  it,  to  the  shelter  of  some  tussock. 
Another  is  crawling  under  some  leaves,  and  its  brown 
back  is  so  deceptive  that  we  look  twice  before  we  can  be 
sure  of  our  eyes. 

Five  birds  are  bagged,  and  now  we  hear  the  cluck  of 
the  mother  as  she  calls  her  brood  about  her.  Once  more 
we  advance.  This  time  they  are  more  wary,  but  still  we 
get  within  thirty  yards  before  they  rise;  and  now  the 
dogs  have  a  stronger  scent,  which  they  follow  for  some 
distance.  They  flush  a  covey  of  males,  who  are  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  females  and  chickens,  though  they  do  not 
associate  with  them.  They  are  more  easily  disturbed, 
rise  higher,  and  fly  faster  than  did  the  others,  though 
they  are  not  difficult  to  hit,  nor  do  they  carry  away  the 
lead  when  they  are  wounded.  A  very  slight  injury  brings 
them  to  the  ground,  and  the  only  trouble  is  that,  when 
winged,  they  go  farther  than  do  the  young  to  find  a 
place  of  concealment. 

There  would  be  no  sense  in  killing  more  birds  than 
we  can  dispose  of  in  camp,  so  we  let  a  dozen  suffice,  and 
return  to  camp  before  the  fishermen  have  fairly  begun 
their  work. 

Such  is  hunting  the  sharp-tailed  grouse;  and  just  so 
numerous  and  so  tame  will  they  be  found  in  all  these 


180  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

upland  valleys.  Up  to  this  time  their  food  has  been  of 
the  most  tempting  and  delicate  kind,  and  this  makes 
them  a  treat  for  the  epicure;  but,  unfortunately,  they  are 
very  tender  birds,  and,  no  matter  how  carefully  packed, 
will  not  bear  transportation  as  well  as  do  most  similar 
species. 

With  September,  berries  and  green  shoots  fail,  and 
then  they  eat  cedar-berries,  pine-nuts,  and  other  articles 
of  similar  flavor,  until  their  flesh  reminds  one  of  spruce 
gum;  but  this  taste  is  not  disagreeable,  nor  do  they  ever 
become  so  saturated  with  the  rank  essential  oils  that  are 
to  be  found  in  their  winter  food  as  do  the  sage-hens. 

Snow  falls  early  in  these  mountains,  and,  with  the 
first  squall,  there  is  another  change  in  their  mode  of  life. 
All  the  birds,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  assemble 
in  large  packs,  and  select  some  place  for  passing  the 
winter.  They  do  not  come  from  diiferent  sections  in  a 
migratory  wave,  but  those  families  that  have  spent  the 
summer  here  and  there  along  some  stream,  all  assemble 
near  its  head-waters  and  choose  a  camping-ground.  This 
is  generally  among  the  evergreens,  where  they  can  find 
food  and  shelter  beneath  the  decumbent  branches.  The 
winter  plumage  now  appears,  and,  though  the  birds  grow 
exceedingly  wild,  they  will  not  allow  themselves  to  be 
separated  when  once  the  pack  has  been  f  ormed.  The  males 
appear  much  more  gray  in  winter  than  in  summer,  and 
so  nearly  are  the  V-shaped  markings  obliterated  that  the 
male  and  the  female  seem  to  belong  to  different  species, 
especially  as  the  sexes,  when  in  the  pack,  do  not  mingle, 
but  each  keeps  its  own  side  of  the  yard.  During  the 
winter  season  they  roost  upon  the  pine-branches,  and  on 
very  cold  days,  unless  a  storm  is  threatening,  prefer  not 
to  leave  their  perches.  At  this  time  the  usually  wary 
bird  may  be  shot  from  the  boughs,  and  sometimes  three 
or  four  shots  may  be  fired  before  the  flock  flies  away. 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  181 

Such  instances  are,  however,  very  rare.  They  are  usually 
off  with  the  first  sign  of  clanger,  but  they  will  not  go  so 
far  that  they  can  not  easily  return  to  the  same  perch  that 
they  left.  The  pot-hunter  can  now  secure  all  the  birds 
he  can  carry  by  driving  them  away  from  the  yard,  and 
then  concealing  himself  in  a  thicket.  The  birds  will 
return  at  dusk,  if  not  before,  and  all  night  long  the 
hunter  may  blaze  away  among  the  trees,  and  thus  secure 
a  large  bag.  After  dark  the  grouse  will  scarcely  change 
position,  only  move  from  limb  to  limb  as  they  are  dis- 
turbed by  flashes  from  below,  or  by  the  fall  of  some  slain 
companion  from  a  higher  branch.  This  murderous 
method  is  worthy  of  an  Indian,  but  not  of  any  sports- 
man. 

In  common  with  Pedioccetes  phasianellus  campestris 
of  the  prairies,  the  sharp- tail  of  the  mountains  burrows 
in  the  snow,  and  can  travel  quite  rapidly  beneath  its 
surface  when  it  imagines  itself  in  danger  from  an  enemy. 
In  the  same  way,  if  the  thicket  does  not  afford  sufficient 
protection  from  a  storm,  it  buries  itself  until  the  bliz- 
zard is  over.  Once  in  awhile,  a  sudden  freeze  forms  such 
a  crust  over  the  soft  snow  that  the  birds  are  imprisoned; 
they  will  then  make  long  tunnels,  in  hope  of  escape, 
though  sometimes  they  perish  in  the  attempt. 

The  prairie  sharp-tail  is  found  in  our  northern  tier  of 
States  and  Territories,  between  Lake  Superior  and  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  It  may  be  found 
in  Western  Nebraska  and  in  Eastern  Wyoming  and  Colo- 
rado, as  far  south  as  the  New  Mexico  line;  but  as  the 
prairie  chicken  increases  with  the  advent  of  the  farmer, 
so  does  the  sharp-tail  disappear;  and  as  the  well- watered 
valleys  where  it  thrives  are  the  first  lands  to  be  home- 
steaded  by  the  settler,  it  is  now  a  rarity,  excepting  in 
Eastern  Montana  and  Dakota.  The  rusty  or  ochraceous 
ground-color  of  the  upper  parts  is  the  most  apparent 


182  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

specific  difference,  and  the  eggs  of  the  prairie  sharp-tail 
are  a  trifle  shorter  than  are  those  of  her  mountain  sister. 
It  can  not  be  supposed  that  during  the  whole  of  our 
excursion  we  devote  ourselves  to  the  sharp-tail.  Guides 
and  cow-boys  have  told  us  strange  tales  about  the  ' '  fool- 
hen,"  that  lives  among  the  pine  and  spruce,  above  the 
white-leaved  poplars,  close  to  the  snow-belt.  If  such  a 
bird  exists,  we  must  find  it,  and  hence  a  hunt  for  the 

SPRUCE  GROUSE. 

This  bird  belongs  to  the  genus  Dendragapus,  which 
is  well  represented  in  the  Northern  United  States  and 
throughout  British  America.  The  Dendragapi  are  divided 
into  two  families.  The  first  of  these  is  distinguished  by 
a  tail  of  twenty  feathers,  and  the  sides  of  the  neck  are, 
in  the  male,  with  distinct  inflatable  air-sacs.  Jts  mem- 
bers live  in  the  Far  West,  and  are  the  dusky  grouse,  with 
the  varieties  known  as  the  sooty  grouse  and  Richardson' s 
grouse.  The  members  of  the  second  family  have  but  six- 
teen tail-feathers,  and  the  males  have  no  apparent  air- 
sac  on  the  side  of  the  neck.  To  it  belongs  the  Canada 
grouse,  or  spruce  partridge,  of  the  Northeast,  and  Frank- 
lin's grouse  of  Northern  Montana,  Idaho,  and  the  Cas- 
cade Ranges.  Throughout  the  West  these  species  are 
known,  indiscriminately,  as  spruce  grouse,  pine  grouse, 
black  grouse,  mountain  grouse,  gray  grouse,  hill-cock, 
and  fool-hen,  the  last  term  being  the  one  most  commonly 
in  use.  All  varieties  of  the  dusky  grouse  resemble  the 
typical  Dendragapus  obscurus  in  appearance  and  habit. 
Above,  they  are  a  dusky  gray  or  dull  blackish  (a  blue- 
black  in  the  sooty  grouse),  usually  more  or  less  mottled, 
especially  on  the  wings;  tail,  black,  generally  with  a 
broad  terminal  band  of  gray;  lower  parts,  chiefly  a  plain 
slate-gray,  more  or  less  varied  with  white  on  the  flanks. 
The  female  is  distinguished  by  faint  buffy  or  brownish 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  183 

shades  upon  the  upper  parts,  and  the  downy  young  differ 
from  all  other  grouse  in  their  pale,  chestnut-brown  color, 
mottled  with  black,  forming  six  irregular  stripes  down 
the  rump.  As  the  spruce  grouse  commonly  rears  two 
broods  in  a  season,  the  young  of  the  first  brood  will  be 
found  to  have  attained  almost  their  full  growth  by  the 
middle  of  August.  Where  shall  we  look  for  them?  They 
wander  more  from  day  to  day  than  do  the  sharp-tails. 
In  the  morning  and  at  evening,  the  young  birds  may  be 
found  near  some  mountain  brook.  They  are  now  free 
from  parental  care,  and,  during  August  and  September, 
afford  first-rate  sport,  and  act  like  game  birds.  They  lie 
well  to  the  dogs,  but  will  not  allow  the  shooter  to  walk 
.over  them  before  they  can  be  flushed.  Flying  swiftly, 
but  not  far,  they  afford  good  wing-shots.  They  are, 
moreover,  in  best  condition  for  the  table.  Again,  the 
brood  will  not  allow  itself  to  be  scattered  for  any  length 
of  time.  Their  days  are  spent  away  up  among  the  pines. 
An  hour  or  two  before  sunset,  they  come  down  to  the 
stream  to  drink,  and  remain  in  the  underbrush  all  night, 
returning  to  the  mountains  soon  after  sunrise.  They 
travel  on  the  wing,  and  sportsmen  who  lie  in  wait  for 
them  at  the  opens  which  they  are  obliged  to  cross  are 
usually  rewarded  with  good  bags. 

For  hunting  them  we  shall  load  with  1-J  ounces  of  No. 
8  shot;  and  high  hunting-boots  will  be  a  convenience,  as 
we  may  have  streams  to  wade.  We  shall  certainly  have 
to  clamber  over  rocks,  and  make  our  way  through  thick- 
ets, before  we  find  them  at  their  midday  meal;  but  in 
this  exhilarating  atmosphere  such  tramps  are  not  hard 
work,  and  as  we  climb  higher  and  higher,  and,  now  and 
again,  turn  to  get  views  of  the  green  hills,  with  snow- 
clad  crests,  of  timber-lined  canons  opening  upon  the 
desert  of  a  pearly  haze — a  boundless  sea,  upon  whose 
breast  the  distant  purple-peaks  seem  inverted  like  islands 


184  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

in  mid-ocean,  and  where  every  mirage  pictures  a  tropical 
oasis — we  forget  our  quest,  and  are  lost  in  admiration  of 
the  scene.  The  sportsman  who  will  not  draw  vigor  and 
inspiration  from  such  a  view  has  no  business  in  this 
country.  He  may  be  a  piece  of  walking  mechanism,  but 
he  lacks  a  soul.  Up  we  go!  The  smoke  of  the  camp-fire 
fades  in  the  distance.  Clouds  float  about  us,  and  at 
length,  as  conquerors,  we  tread  the  carpet  of  fragrant 
pine-needles.  Not  here,  where  trees  are  far  apart,  but  in 
some  dense  thicket,  where  the  stunted  conifers  try  in 
vain  to  lift  their  heads  among  their  stately  elders,  will 
we  find  the  objects  of  our  search.  Perchance  our  pointers 
will  be  of  little  service.  No — already  they  catch  a  scent, 
but  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to  locate  it.  Probably  it  is 
from  some  old  bird  that  is  perched  in  a  tree.  There  is  a 
low  clump  where  we  may  be  successful.  The  dogs  come 
up  against  the  wind,  and  stand.  How  the  chickens  look 
at  us,  and  ruffle  up  their  neck-feathers  as  though  longing 
for  a  fight!  Get  ready,  for  there  is  no  telling  how  soon 
they  will  fly.  Up  they  rise,  circling  as  they  go,  and  then 
dart  noiselessly  for  a  tree,  where  they  will  remain  long 
enough  for  us  to  get  a  sitting  shot.  Notice  how  closely 
they  resemble  the  brown  excrescences  on  the  weather- 
beaten  trunk,  and  then  pick  out  the  lowest  bird,  and 
shoot  up,  so  as  not  to  frighten  them.  That  was  soon 
done.  The  bag  is  heavier  now.  Let  us  retrace  our  steps 
for  an  instant  to  find  the  bird  whose  scent  the  dogs  lost. 
It  is  probably  some  moulting  male,  that  seeks  retirement 
at  this  season.  The  moulting  season  lasts  from  July 
until  September,  and  Franklin's  grouse  moults  earlier 
than  does  its  dusky  brother. 

We  soon  tire  of  walking  up  and  down  hill  upon  the 
slippery  needles,  so  we  shall  go  down  to  a  coppice-guarded 
spring  and  discuss  our  lunch;  but  if  you  are  a  stranger 
in  the  mountains',  and  are  interested  in  natural  history,  I 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,  ETC.  185 

would  advise  you  to  keep  ears  attent  and  eyes  open. 
Down  in  the  tall  grass,  what  is  the  clucking  that  we  hear? 
Steal  softly  up,  and  see  the  hen  with  her  second  brood. 
Ah!  she  spies  us,  but  does  not  appear  alarmed  on  that 
account.  The  little  ones  crouch  down,  and  eye  us  sus- 
piciously, while  the  old  lady  continues  her  clucking 
and  scratching  as  composedly  as  though  we  were  miles 
away.  Approaching  nearer,  she  ruffles  her  feathers,  and 
acts  like  a  barn-yard  fowl  under  similar  circumstances. 
Can  they  be  domesticated?  Yes;  the  dusky  grouse 
breeds  in  confinement,  and  could  the  hen  be  constantly 
surrounded  by  her  brood,  she  would  never  think  of  flying 
away.  The  young  birds  are  frequently  captured  and 
tamed  by  the  cow-boys,  but  when  the  cattle  move  down 
from  the  mountains  in  the  autumn,  the  young  birds  are 
generally  fried,  or  are  turned  loose  to  return  to  their  old 
haunts.  Here,  in  a  grassy  tussock,  is  a  nest  containing 
seven  eggs,  creamy,  and  sprinkled  with  a  chocolate  brown. 
At  least  fifteen  eggs  would  have  been  found  had  we 
located  the  nest  in  the  early  spring. 

Early  in  April  is  heard  the  ventriloquistic  love-call  of 
the  amorous  male.  It  is  made  by  the  gular  air-sacs-,  and 
is  of  a  softer  tone  than  the  boom  of  the  pinnated  grouse. 
It  is  preceded  by  a  prolonged  whir.  At  this  time  the 
cock  presents  a  striking  appearance.  His  air-sacs  are  a 
bright  orange,  plumage  metallic  in  lustre,  and  he  spreads 
a  gorgeous,  fan-like  tail  upon  some  lofty  bough,  preferring 
a  pedestal  to  the  vulgar  ground.  To  these  charms,  rather 
than  to  ball-room  accomplishments,  does  he  trust,  and, 
while  not  quarrelsome,  he  will,  in  wooing  season,  fight 
longer  and  harder  than  will  the  sharp-tail.  After  the 
broods  break  up,  they  never  form  a  winter  pack,  as  do 
the  sharp-tails.  Their  habits  of  feeding  keep  them  soli- 
tary, and  in  the  depth  of  winter  they  are  much  more 
wary  than  at  any  other  time.  They  will  remain  for  days 


.  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

on  a  pine-tree,  getting  both  food  and  moisture  from  the 
lance-like  leaves.  When  disturbed,  they  do  not  rise,  but 
drop  almost  to  the  ground,  and  then  glide  away  in  silence, 
their  flight  at  this  time  being  wonderfully  swift.  They 
do  not  deserve  the  name  "fool-hen,"  which  comes  from 
the  refusal  of  the  female  to  desert  her  chicks  and  from 
the  unwillingness  of  the  moulting  male  to  vacate  his 
perch. 

The  sooty  grouse,  locally  known  as  the  blue  grouse, 
is  found  throughout  the  mountain  region  north  and  west 
of  the  falls  of  the  Yellowstone  River.  It  is  the  common 
grouse  of  the  coast  ranges  between  the  Columbia  River 
and  Alaska.  This  bird  does  not  love  to  travel.  If  he 
leaves  an  open  valley  on  the  approach  of  winter,  he  does 
not,  as  many  imagine,  desert  the  country;  he  simply 
seeks  the  top  of  some  tall  fir  or  pine  tree,  where,  for 
months,  his  diet  consists  entirely  of  buds,  tender  twigs, 
and  needles.  Although  the  sooty  grouse  lives  at  a  high 
altitude  and  in  a  cold  country,  it  is  partial  to  sunlight 
and  warmth,  and,  in  almost  every  case,  will  be  found  on 
the  hill-side  having  a  southern  exposure,  and  sheltered 
from  piercing  blasts  of  the  north  wind.  Neither  does  it 
prefer  the  seclusion  of  a  forest  and  the  gloom  of  heavy 
timber.  It  requires  a  clearing,  or  else  scattered  pine  or 
tamarack  trees  at  the  "edge  of  the  dense  timber.  This 
bird  does  not  "pack"  in  winter,  and  I  doubt  if,  as  a 
rule,  families  remain  together  during  cold  weather.  A 
pair  will  be  found,  or  a  female  with  a  late  brood,  but  the 
sooty  grouse  is  by  no  means  inclined  to  be  social.  They 
succeed  in  concealing  themselves  more  effectively  than 
do  most  of  their  congeners.  Instinct  teaches  them  to 
perch  amid  the  most  dense  foliage,  and  if  they  are  discov- 
ered seated  upon  a  naked  branch,  they  crouch  lengthwise 
upon  it,  and  so  succeed  in  concealing  themselves  from 
aught  but  the  closest  observation.  I  have  never  found 


SHARP-TAILED    GROUSE,    ETC.  187 

the  nest  of  the  sooty  grouse  among  quaking  aspen  tim- 
ber or  among  the  willows  and  tall  grasses  near  an  upland 
brook.  The  favorite  spot  is  beneath  the  wide-spreading 
roots  of  a  hill-side  pine,  and  1  have  found  one  nest  remote 
from  heavy  timber,  beneath  a  mountain  mahogany. 
While  the  sharp-tail  prefers  grassy  slopes,  the  blue 
grouse  haunts  the  rocks.  The  males,  especially,  look  for 
rocky  points  during  the  season  of  incubation,  and  one 
and  another  will  perch  upon  a  commanding  pinnacle, 
and  while  ostensibly  acting  as  a  sentinel,  will  court  the 
admiration  of  all  observers.  As  a  rule,  nine  to  twelve 
eggs  are  found  in  a  set,  and  the  period  of  incubation  is 
eighteen  days.  The  young  chicks  remain  with  their  hen 
for  a  week  or  two,  in  close  proximity  to  the  place  where 
they  were  hatched,  and  when  they  get  sufficiently  strong 
to  make  a  short  flight,  their  mother  takes  them  down  to 
the  willow-fringed  stream .  Their  food,  at  this  tim  e,  is  much 
like  that  of  the  sharp- tailed  grouse,  though  they  are 
rather  more  partial  to  insects,  and  will  wander  away  from 
the  thickets  to  some  grass-grown  park  in  search  of  grass- 
hoppers. Later  in  the  season,  their  food  consists  of  ber- 
ries, and  they  are  especially  fond  of  the  seeds  of  the 
helianthus.  While  with  the  young,  the  note  of  the  hen 
is  very  much  like  the  cackling  of  a  common  barn-yard 
fowl. 

August  comes,  and  now  the  tyJiee  cullaw-cullaw  (the 
chief- bird  of  the  Indians)  is  in  prime  condition,  and  equally 
interesting  to  gourmand  and  sportsman.  Two  months 
later  the  flesh  will  begin  to  assume  a  resinous  flavor,  and 
by  the  1st  of  January  par-boiling  with  onions  will  fail 
to  take  away  the  taste  of  spruce  gum.  Rare  sport  it  is, 
in  the  bracing  morning  atmosphere  of  early  autumn,  to 
shoulder  a  twelve-gauge  gun,  and  with  a  good  dog  beat  up 
the  thickets  about  a  mountain  brook,  or  skirt  the  heavier 
pine  timber  of  the  uplands.  Hunt  the  coolest  places,  is 


188  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  rule,  and  in  the  heat  of  the  day  you  will  have  the  best 
luck  almost  at  the  water's  edge.  In  fact,  if  you  are  after 
trout,  you  will  often  want  to  temporarily  exchange  the 
split  bamboo  for  a  gun,  and  if  you  are  after  grouse,  you 
will  long  for  your  rod,  that  you  may  try  some  specially 
inviting  pool  or  riffle,  upon  which  you  come  most  unex- 
pectedly. The  birds  never  outgrow  their  disposition  to 
hide,  and  the  smallest  tussock  or  clump  of  leaves  serves 
their  purpose.  They  lie  well  to  the  dog,  and  without  a 
dog  you  will  almost  step  upon  them  before  becoming 
aware  of  their  proximity;  but  when  they  rise,  there  is 
nothing  to  equal  their  swift,  strong,  straight-away  flight. 
If  a  brood  is  carefully  marked  down,  they  may  all  be 
brought  to  bag,  as  nothing  but  a  rock  wall  will  make  them 
vary  their  line  of  direction.  In  spring,  and  until  the 
young  are  able  to  fly,  the  Indians  of  the  Northwest  have 
a  superstitious  horror  of  killing  or  eating  a  sooty  grouse. 
Why  the  bird  should,  at  this  particular  season,  be  espe- 
cially sacred  to  the  Great  Spirit,  I  can  not  tell,  but  it  is 
certain  that  the  Indian  believes  that  ill-luck  and  disaster 
will  follow  the  slayer  of  a  newly  mated  or  breeding  '  'chief- 
bird;  "  but  once  the  game  season  opens,  their  conscien- 
tious scruples  vanish  in  an  instant,  and  any  means  of 
extermination,  fair  or  foul,  are  legitimate  with  them. 
Some  of  the  coast  Indians  dry  the  birds  in  the  sun,  or 
smoke  them  for  a  season,  and,  while  the  flesh  is  never 
thoroughly  cured,  as  is  venison,  an  Indian' s  stomach  can 
stand  a  meal  from  this  half-prepared  pemican  long  after 
it  is  too  "high"  for  a  civilized  tourist.  The  sportsman 
in  going  for  grouse  can  not  find  all  kinds  in  any  one  loca- 
tion. If  he  takes  the  Union  Pacific  route,  he  will  find 
himself  in  the  region  of  the  Columbian  sharp-tailed  grouse. 
If  he  travel  over  the  northern  route,  very  few  sharp-tails, 
but  plenty  of  sooty  and  dusky  grouse,  will  find  their  way 
to  his  bag  as  he  moves  westward  from  the  main  chain  of 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  189 

the  Rocky  Mountains,  and,  nearing  the  coast,  Franklin's 
grouse  will  become  abundant.  The  Canadian  line  would 
give  him  plenty  of  sport  with  ptarmigans.  Franklin's 
grouse  lives  at  a  lower  altitude  than  does  the  dusky 
grouse,  and  prefers  a  sandy,  pine-barren  region.  To  this 
species  the  term  "  fool  hen  "  may  be  properly  applied,  for 
it  will  almost  put  its  head  in  a  noose,  and,  when  disturbed, 
it  does  not  trust  to  its  wings,  but  sneaks  through  the 
underbrush  or  runs  to  cover  as  fast  as  its  legs  can  carry 
it.  The  males  are  occasionally  gregarious,  but  a  polyg- 
amous family  is  the  exception  and  not  the  rule. 

The  specific  difference  between  this  bird  and  other 
Western  members  of  the  genus  Dendragapus  is  found  in 
the  tail,  which  has  but  sixteen  feathers,  and  in  the  absence 
of  the  air-sac  on  the  side  of  the  neck.  Both  sexes  are 
barred  above  with  black  and  grayish,  but  beneath,  there 
is  a  great  difference.  In  the  male,  black  predominates, 
barred  with  white,  while  the  ground-color  in  the  female 
is  a  rusty  white  or  buff,  barred  with  black.  In  the  male, 
the  tail  is  black  to  the  extreme  tip;  in  the  female,  the  tail- 
feathers  are  tipped  with  a  narrow  band  of  white.  The 
eggs  are  buff,  spotted  with  dark-brown,  and  are  consider- 
ably smaller  than  those  of  the  sooty  grouse. 

Franklin' s  grouse  is  more  easily  domesticated  than  are 
any  other  birds  of  the  family.  Often  cow-boys  and  sheep- 
men, who  summer  in  the  grass-covered  upland  valleys, 
bring  in  a  nest  of  young  chicks  to  the  camp.  The  little 
vStrangers  soon  get  over  their  natural  timidity.  They  do 
not  attempt  to  hide,  nor  yet  to  escape,  so  there  is  no  use 
in  clipping  their  wings,  and  they  readily  learn  to  recognize 
and  seek  the  hand  that  feeds  them. 

I  once  attempted  to  form  a  "happy  family."  I  built 
a  little  stockade  of  willows  just  outside  my  cabin,  and,  as 
a  nucleus  for  an  aviary,  put  therein  a  pair  of  burrowing 
owls  about  two  weeks  old.  My  next  acquisition  was  a 


190  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

pair  of  young  grouse.  As  the  owls  slept  all  day  and  the 
chickens  slept  all  night,  peace  reigned  supreme.  At  even- 
ing, when  I  returned  to  camp,  after  the  day's  ride  over 
the  range,  and  fed  my  pets,  they  would  all  eat  from 
my  fingers,  and  the  only  sign  of  a  quarrel  would  be  when 
three  of  the  birds  would  unite  to  rob  the  lucky  fourth  of 
some  especially  tempting  morsel;  but,  in  a  most  unfort- 
unate hour,  I  discovered  a  pair  of  Western  red-tailed 
hawks  up  the  canon.  They  were  circling  above  a  nest 
in  an  old  pine-tree,  and  I  instantly  made  up  my  mind  that 
another  ornithological  prize  was  mine.  I  threw  the  bridle 
over  the  horse' s  head,  and  commenced  to  climb,  and  a 
hard  forty-foot  pull  it  was,  but  I  met  with  no  serious 
trouble  until  almost  within  reach  of  the  nest.  "Then 
the  trouble  began  to  brew."  It  did  not  brew  long.  It 
naturally  burst,  and  those  old  hawks  fanned  my  back 
with  their  powerful  wings,  and  flew  into  my  face  with 
such  fury  that  I  was  about  ready  to  slide  down  as  grace- 
fully as  possible.  My  wrists  still  bear  the  scars  received 
from  the  talons  of  the  mother  bird.  But  my  blood  was 
up.  I  could  hear  the  young  hissing  in  the  nest  just 
above  my  head,  so  I  made  a  last  effort,  obtained  a  foot- 
hold, and  being  in  position  to  fight,  soon  had  the  melan- 
choly and  irate  parents  flapping  twenty  feet  above  me. 
The  young  birds  were  as  large  as  full-grown  prairie  fowl, 
and  well  able  to  fly  if  they  had  possessed  sufficient  sense 
to  leave  the  nest.  As  it  was,  they  fought  most  viciously, 
but  my  handkerchief  bound  one  and  a  piece  of  string  the 
other,  and  the  success  of  the  expedition  was  assured.  The 
old  hawks  followed  me  back  to  the  cabin,  though  they 
were  content  to  remain  at  a  respectful  distance.  I  clipped 
the  wings  of  the  captives,  and  put  them  in  durance  vile. 
Chicks  and  owls  gave  them  a  wide  berth,  and  I  thought 
I  discerned  signs  of  an  approaching  storm,  so  I  gave 
them  a  hearty  meal,  to  which  the  hawks  did  full  justice, 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  191 

and  then  settled  themselves  for  an  after-dinner  nap.  I 
offered  them  food  again  at  night,  but  the  red-tails  seemed 
still  satisfied  with  the  memories  of  their  noonday  repast. 
All  ate  heartily  the  next  morning,  and  I  rode  away  think- 
ing the  aviary  the  success  of  the  season;  but  alas  for 
the  best  laid  plans  of  mice  and  men  !  I  came  home  at 
night,  and  no  grouse  were  to  be  found.  Feathers  and 
bones  told  the  tale.  My  little  owls  in  the  corner  were 
hissing  in  a  terrified  manner,  and  those  treacherous  hawks, 
with  bloody  beaks  and  breasts,  were  dozing  as  tranquilly 
as  doves.  It  was  a  time  for  the  display  of  justice,  not  of 
wrath,  so  I  searched  the  cabin  for  the  oldest,  strongest 
pipe  that  ever  afforded  solace  to  a  cow-boy,  and  upon  my 
knife-blade  I  scraped  a  few  grains  of  the  black,  moist 
nicotine;  then  I  reached  into  the  cage,  and  caught  Master 
Hawk  by  both  legs  before  he  had  time  to  scratch,  and, 
as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  protest  against  such  unwar- 
rantable impudence,  drew  the  blade  across  his  tongue, 
pulled  out  my  watch,  and  took  notes.  In  fifteen  seconds 
he  acted  as  though  he  had  taken  a  powerful  emetic;  then 
he  commenced  to  tremble  violently,  and  in  fifty  seconds 
was  upon  his  back  gasping.  Then  his  eyes  began  to  glaze 
and  his  legs  to  stiffen,  and  in  two  minutes  from  the  time 
of  taking  the  dose  he  was  a  dead  bird.  His  companion 
traveled  the  same  road.  That  night  the  lonely  owls  .bur- 
rowed their  way  out,  and  so  ended  my  experience  as  a 
professional  collector  of  live-stock.  The  dusky  grouse, 
sooty  grouse,  and  Franjklin's  grouse  can,  I  believe,  be 
successfully  introduced  into  the  mountain  regions  of  the 
East,  north  of  the  Alleghenies  of  Pennsylvania.  The 
Green  Mountains,  the  Adirondacks,  and  the  peaks  of 
Maine  would  prove  most  home-like  resorts  for  Frank- 
lin's grouse,  and  its  sooty  brother,  that  does  not  like  to 
wander,  would  soon  become  contented  with  the  rocky 
slopes  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  They  can  obtain  almost  the 


192  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

same  food  in  the  East  that  they  have  in  the  West,  and  the 
experiment  of  transplanting  these  game  birds  into  regions 
where  the  ruffed  grouse  is  almost  extinct  is  worth  trying. 
As  Eastern  fishermen  whip  the  salmon-pools  of  Quebec 
and  Nova  Scotia,  so  the  opening  of  the  great  inter-mount- 
ain and  coast  range  region  by  the  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way should  give  our  American  sportsmen  the  desire  to 
wander  more  widely,  and  become  better  acquainted  with 
the  grouse  and  other  game  birds  of  the  Northwest,  which 
are  as  well  worthy  their  attention  as  are  the  woodcock, 
quail,  snipe  and  partridge  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard. 

PTAKMIGANS. 

The  ptarmigan  belongs  to  British  America  and  to 
Alaska,  although  it  is  found  in  the  United  States  among 
the  higher  Sierra,  Rocky,  and  Cascade  Ranges.  As  Doc- 
tor Grinnell  says:  "  Their  tracks  in  the  snow  and  their 
feathers  are  more  often  seen  than  the  birds  themselves." 
But  two  species  are  to  be  found  in  this  country.  One, 
the  black-tailed  or  willow  ptarmigan  (Lagopus],  is  a 
rare  winter  immigrant,  coming  down  from  the  Far 
North  to  the  heights  of  the  Adirondacks  and  of  Maine. 
In  these  regions  it  may  be  found  in  mid-winter  in  packs, 
but  by  March  it  has  taken  its  departure  for  its  Arctic 
home.  The  second  species  is  found  upon  the  Alpine 
summits  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  thence  westward  to 
the  higher  ranges  of  Oregon,  Washington,  and  British 
Columbia.  It  is  the  white-tailed  ptarmigan,  white 
or  mountain  quail,  and  is  known  to  science  as  Lago- 
pus leucurus.  The  fact  that  their  habitat,  except 
when  they  are  feeding,  is  above  the  timber-line,  makes 
them,  although  neither  wild  nor  wary,  a  rare  bird  for  the 
sportsman  to  bag;  but  the  trouble  that  one  must  neces- 
sarily take  to  secure  them  does  not  pay  in  a  region  where 
spruce  and  sharp-tailed  grouse  are  abundant.  It  is  a 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC. 


193 


very  singular  fact  that,  excepting  in  winter,  no  two 
sportsmen  will  give  the  same  description  of  the  white- 
tailed  ptarmigan.  This  is  because  the  bird,  from  March 
to  September,  is  in  a  continual  moult.  In  winter,  the 
only  distinction  in  plumage  between  the  two  species  is  to 
be  found  in  the  black  tail  and  primaries  of  the  willow 
ptarmigan.  The  white-tailed  ptarmigan 
is  the  smallest  of  its  genus.  In  size,  it 
is  between  the  common  quail  and  ruffed 
grouse;  in  shape,  it  agrees  with  the 
partridge,  especially  as  to  head  and 
tail.  The  toes  are  partially  feathered 
in  summer,  and  in  winter  are  com- 
pletely covered  with  a  fine  white  down. 
Four  times  in  each 
year  does  the  bird 
change  its  appear- 
ance. In  winter  it  is  a 
pure  white,  and  so 
thick  is  the  covering  ^ 
of  feathers  that  it  ap-| 
pears  to  be  quite  a! 
good-sized  chicken, 
but  when  killed  it  is 
found  to  be  a  very 
small  wild  fowl.  In 
July,  although  it  may  be  in  tirst-rate  condition,  it  may 
appear  quite  poor.  The  upper  parts  of  the  male  are  a  yel- 
lowish gray,  coarsely  blurred  with  black,  and  the  breast  is 
a  dirty  white,  cross-barred  with  black.  The  whole  appear- 
ance is  as  though  the  ptarmigan  needed  a  bath  to  show 
off  his  true  colors;  but  this  is  not  the  case,  for  he 
indulges  in  a  snow-bath  several  times  each  day,  taking 
to  a  dry,  northerly  snow-bank  as  naturally  as  does  a 
domestic  fowl  to  a  dusty  road.  The  female  looks  very 

13 


194  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

much  like  the  male,  but  is  smaller.  The  spring  and 
autumn  moults  give  the  male  a  more  uniform  coat  of 
reddish-gray,  in  which  are  irregular  black  patches,  and 
the  head  and  neck  are  more  regularly  barred.  At  this 
season  the  female  is  somewhat  more  tawny  than  is  the 
male,  and  she  always  moults  before  he  does.  These 
changing  colors  most  wonderfully  adapt  themselves  to 
the  storm-beaten  rocks  among  which  the  birds  are  found 
in  summer;  to  the  snows  where  they  make  their  winter 
home.  The  nest  is  made  of  mosses  or  lichens,  and  is  gen- 
erally sheltered  by  some  overhanging  rock.  In  it  are 
deposited  ten  or  twelve  eggs — buff,  sprinkled  with  a  lus- 
trous black.  While  upon  the  nest  the  female  will  not 
leave  the  eggs  for  any  enemy,  nor  will  the  male  hesitate 
to  do  battle  in  behalf  of  his  mate,  and  this  devotion  and 
bravery  are  exhibited  until  the  young  brood  leaves  its 
parents! 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  summer,  the  best  time  for 
hunting  them,  the  white-tailed  ptarmigans  will  be  found 
in  small  coveys  at  the  upper  timber-line,  where  there  are 
a  few  stunted  pines  and  heather,  within  easy  distance  of 
snow  on  one  side,  and  of  twigs  and  berries  on  the  other. 
They  are  very  tame,  and,  if  alarmed,  will  fly  but  a  few 
yards,  hence  a  very  light  charge  of  powder  and  shot 
will  suffice  for  their  destruction;  but  I  doubt  if  dogs  are 
an  assistance  in  hunting  them.  Generally  they  cluck  so 
loudly  that  there  is  no  trouble  in  finding  their  location. 
If  we  fire  into  the  flock  for  the  purpose  of  alarming  them, 
they  will -run  to  cover  rather  than  take  to  flight.  If  the 
snow  is  of  any  depth,  they  will  burrow  in  it,  and  so, 
almost  instantly,  sink  out  of  sight.  Their  burrows  are 
quite  deep,  and  in  this  respect  they  differ  from  the  tun- 
nels of  the  sharp-tailed  grouse.  As,  in  autumn,  the 
snow-line  descends  the  mountain,  the  ptarmigan  goes 
with  it.  The  lower  he  goes  the  more  wild  does  he  become, 


SHARP-TAILED   GROUSE,    ETC.  195 

so  that  in  winter  it  is  almost  impossible  to  get  a  shot  at 
him.  The  flesh,  too,  has  a  piny  flavor,  and  is  very  bit- 
ter. Owing  to  the  shyness  of  the  bird,  and  to  its  method 
of  flight,  the  hunter  at  this  season  should  load  as  though 
his  campaign  were  to  be  for  ducks,  and  should  never  use 
shot  flner  than  No.  6. 

With  the  mountain  goat,  the  ptarmigan  is  one  of  the 
trophies  of  those  sportsmen  who  isolate  themselves  from 
even  camp-fire  comforts,  and  who  are  willing  alone  to 
climb  the  lofty  peaks  and  cross  the  barren  ridges  that 
form  the  mighty  continental  divide;  and  he  who  has 
filled  his  bag  with  ptarmigans  has,  in  this  country,  at 
least,  nothing  in  the  bird  line  left  to  satisfy  his  ambitious 
ardor. 


PLOVER-SHOOTING. 


BY  E.  HOUGH, 
Of  "Forest  and  Stream." 


LOVER- SHOOTING,  as  a  sport,  yearly 
assumes  a  greater  importance  and  attracts  a 
more  general  attention.  Writers  of  the  first 
and  second  quarters  of  the  century  have 
recorded  that  this  bird,  then  plentiful  to 
the  last  degree  all  through  the  mid-continent,  was  not 
pursued  by  the  sportsman,  on  account  of  its  insignifi- 
cance, and  was  in  danger  only  from  market-shooters,  who 
killed  it  for  sale.  To-day,  the  scarcity  of  the  grouse,  the 
quail,  and  other  formerly  abundant  birds  is  causing 
shooters  who  love  the  breezy  uplands  to  cast  about  them 
for  new  or  practicable  sport;  and  since  the  plover  may 
be  said  to  fit  a  vacant  season  in  the  shooting-year,  there 
is  a  considerable  and  an  additional  interest  taken  in  it  as  a 
game  bird.  As  a  pastime,  plover- shooting  can  not  be  called 
wild,  laborious,  difficult,  or  dangerous,  and  it  is  there- 
fore lacking  in  much  that  appeals  to  the  hardy  hunter's 
nature;  yet  it  has  some  peculiar  and  not  uninteresting 
features  of  its  own — a  certain  individual  fascination,  quite 
capable  of  winning  its  own  blind  followers  and  devotees, 
and  that  all-abiding  and  all-worthy  charm  of  any  sport 
or  occupation  which  calls  us  away  from  the  desky  and 
dusty  city,  out  into  the  wide  fields  and  under  the  clear 
sky. 

I  did  never  like  a  lawyer's  brief,  with  long  "Whereas" 
and  "Therefore,"  nor  did  I  ever  fancy  a  book  full  of 

(197) 


198  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

learned  disquisition.  The  unnamed  flowers  are  the 
sweetest,  the  unclassified  bird  has  the  sweetest  note  of 
the  air,  and  the  unclassifying  writer  or  reader  the  freest 
sweep  of  the  wing,  be  that  of  fact  or  fancy.  The  sports- 
man, however,  is  naturally  half  naturalist.  This  is  what 
Audubon  says  for  us  about  our  bird: 

"  Family  CJiaradriince — plovers.  Bill,  short,  straight,* 
subcylindrical,  and  obtusely  pointed;  upper  mandible, 
with  dorsal  line  straight  for  one-half  its  length,  after- 
ward, convex;  nasal  groove,  bare,  extended  along  two- 
thirds  the  length  of  the  bill.  Head,  moderate  size,  rather 
compressed,  rounded  in  front.  Eyes,  large.  Keck,  rather 
short.  Body,  ovate,  rather  full.  Plumage,  soft,  blended, 
somewhat  compact  above?  Wings,  long,  pointed,  with 
the  first  quill  longest.  Tail,  of  moderate  length,  some- 
what rounded,  or  with  middle  feathers  projecting;  of 
twelve  feathers.  Nest,  on  ground,  shallow;  eggs,  gen- 
erally four,  large,  pyriform,  spotted.  Young,  densely 
covered  with  down,  and  able  to  walk  immediately  after 
birth." 

In  the  above  description,  it  is  probable  that  the 
average  sportsman  will  remember,  out  of  his  own  experi- 
ence, only  the  rounded  head,  the  large  eye,  the  short 
neck,  and  the  "ovate,  rather  full''  body,  noticeable  as 
salient  form-features  in  the  species  of  plover  familiar  to 
himself.  When  it  comes  to  the  matter  of  coloration, 
there  is  wide  divergence  in  the  plover  types,  and  in  many 
cases  the  scientific  description  will  not  call  to  mind  any 
bird  familiar  to  the  inland  or  Western  shooter.  Audubon 
gives  seven  species  of  the  genus  CkaradriuA,  which  may 
be  briefly  mentioned  as  the  black-bellied  plover,  the 
golden  plover,  the  Rocky  Mountain  plover,  the  killdeer 
plover,  the  Wilson's  plover,  the  American  ring  plover, 
and  the  piping  plover.  With  the  exception  of  the  golden 
plover,  none  of 'these  birds  is  of  such  habits,  or  such 


PLOVEE-SHOOrrBTG.  199 

habitat,  as  to  deserve  our  attention  herein.     AVe  will  bear 
the  golden  plover  in  mind. 

When  we  have  gone  through  all  the  species  which  the 
scientists  permit  us  to  call  plovers,  we  shall  not  yet  have 
found  the  bird  which,  of  all  plovers,  or  so-called  plovers, 
is  perhaps  the  most  generally  known — the  "upland1 
plover."'  I  doubt  not  that  many  a  shooter  who  has 
looked  down  upon  the  brown,  striated  back  of  this  beauti- 
ful bird,  as  it  lay  before  him  on  the  grass,  has  thought 
how  like  it  looked  to  the  jacksnipe;  it  will  perhaps  sur- 
prise him  to  know,  however,  that,  according  to  the  scien- 
tists, the  upland  plover  is  not  a  plover  at  all,  but  a  snipe! 
This,  although  everybody  knows  that  our  bird  keeps  as 
far  away  from  water  as  it  possibly  can!  AVe  must,  how- 
ever, meekly  submit  to  our  friends  the  scientists,  and 
read  as  below: 

Family  Scolopacince  —  snipes.  Genus  1,  Tringa; 
species  Bartramia.  "Bartramian  sandpiper"  (Audu- 
bon).  ' '  Bart-ram' s  tatler ' '  (Baird,  Brewer,  and  Kidgway). 
Bartramia  longicanda  (Less.). 

We  have  now  located  our  second  plover,  and  may  call 
it.  if  we  wish  to  be  prim  about  it,  the  Bartramian  sand- 
piper, or  Bartram's  tatler.  After  this,  we  may,  if  we 
wish,  forget  all  about  Mr.  Bartram's  connection  with 
our  bird,  or  our  bird's  connection  with  the  snipe  family, 
and  pass  on  to  the  more  practical  consideration  of  our 
narrowed  theme,  which  will  have  to  do  with  the  two 
birds  which  the  upland  shooter  most  often  meets,  and 
which  will  afford  him  the  best  sport  at  plover-shooting. 

THE  GOLDEX  PLOVER  (Charadrius  marmoratus}. — 
This,  the  more  important  of  our  two  birds,  is  doubtless 
familiar  to  most  upland  shooters  of  the  West  and  South, 
and  certainly,  if  one  has  ever  seen  it,  he  will  not  readily 
forget  the  fact,  for  it  is  a  singularly  beautiful  and  stylish 
bird.  The  clean-cut  lines  of  the  head  and  neck,  the  deep 


200  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

black  of  the  breast,  and  the  golden  mottle  of  the  back  are 
the  main  remembrances  one  brings  away  from  the  side  of 
a  flock  of  golden  plovers  as  they  stalk,  tall  and  erect,  or 
run  swiftly  across  a  field.  Seen  at  a  distance,  the  birds 
look  nearly  as  large  as  pigeons,  and  their  appearance  is 
alert,  wary,  and  truly  game-like.  On  the  ground,  swift, 
bright  and  self-possessed;  on  the  wing,  rapid,  erratic— 
now  sweeping  close  along  the  ground  in  long  and  loose 
array,  and  now  glancing  with  a  hundred  golden  gleams 
as  they  turn  in  serried  rank  against  the  shafts  of  the 
morning  sun — they  are  fit  subjects  for  the  artist's  pencil, 
and  worthy  incentives  for  the  sportsman's  enthusiasm. 
They  are  birds  of  the  fair,  warm  fields,  of  the  blue  sky,  of 
the  gentle  breath  of  spring  or  early  fall.  They  come  first 
when  the  frost  has  left  the  air,  when  the  grass  is  growing 
green,  and  when  the  leaves  on  the  hedges  are  bigger  than 
a  squirrel's  ear.  They  come  again  in  the  fall,  when  sum- 
mer has  just  finished  the  rounding  out  of  her  golden 
work,  and  before  the  chill  winds  have  laid  their  blight 
upon  the  land.  Golden  with  the  promise  of  the  spring, 
and  golden  with  the  fruition  of  the  summer.  I  know  not 
why  we  should  not  love  and  cherish  them,  and  hold  them 
very  worthy  of  good  place  and  proper  sportsman's 
handling. 

The  golden  plover  is  preeminently  a  migratory  bird, 
and  wide,  indeed,  is  the  range  it  covers  with  the  sweep 
of  its  bold  and  sinewy  wing.  Its  loose  and  scattered 
bands  are  often  seen  far  out  at  sea,  and  it  still  seems  per- 
fectly at  home  and  perfectly  confident.  It  goes  to  the 
Bahamas  and  to  Bermuda,  is  found  in  the  West  Indies, 
in  Central  and  South  America,  and  even  in  Paraguay  and 
Chili.  It  is  seen  at  Sitka  and  the  Xorthwest  Coast,  and 
indeed  over  most  of  the  British  Possessions.  It  breeds 
far  to  the  north,  on  the  Arctic  Coast,  or  on  the  islands  of 
the  Arctic  Sea.  We  who  hear  its  "whit!  whit- whit !" 


PLOVER-SHOOTING.  201 

in  May,  do  not  stop  to  reflect  on  the  long  journey  ahead 
of  our  cheerful  traveler;  yet  by  June  the  young  birds 
are  hatched,  and  by  August  or  September  we  may  see 
the  armies  going  south,  seeking,  it  may  be,  the  pampas 
of  South  America,  or  some  unknown  Andean  plains 
untouched  by  foot  of  man.  The  migration  to  the  North 
is  just  at  the  heels  of  winter,  and  the  birds  reach  us  in 
Indiana  and  Illinois  just  after  the  duck  season  has  closed, 
and  when  the  jacksnipe  are  first  beginning  to  grow  scarcer. 
Their  time  depends  much  upon  the  season,  but  the  1st  of 
May  can  be  roughly  called  their  date.  Usually  they 
appear  in  good  numbers  along  in  April.  They  pass  on 
north  gradually,  and  as  -warm  weather  comes  on.  they 
disappear,  after  affording  the  shooter  perhaps  three,  four, 
or  even  six  weeks  of  sport.  Before  the  birds  have  left 
the  latitude  of  the  States  named,  they  have  paired,  and 
the  females  are  often  heavy  with  eggs.  It  is  unquestion- 
ably wrong  to  shoot  them  then,  but  as  we  have  not  any 
laws  adequately  protecting  them,  that  must  be  a  question 
for.  each  shooter's  own  conscience.  May  all  our  con- 
sciences grow  tender. 

In  the  fall  flight,  the  birds  do  not  look  as  they  did 
when  going  north.  They  have  lost  their  brave  black 
breast-plate,  and  have  taken  on  a  paler  and  more  mot- 
tled color.  This  is  noticeable  not  only  in  the  young  birds, 
but  also  in  the  old  ones.  The  brilliant  black  of  the 
breast  is  peculiar  to  the  breeding-season,  and  the  bird  is 
far  more  beautiful  in  spring-time,  when  it  has  on  the 
livery  of  love.  We  should  respect  this  livery,  and  let 
the  little  creatures  love  on  and  rear  their  families  in 
peace.  That  is  all  there  is  to  life,  and  there  is  in  all 
Nature  a  sympathetic  voice  of  protest  against  intrusion 
or  destruction  then. 

There  are  three  ways  of  shooting  the  golden  plover, 
the  latter  of  which  alone  is  to  be  held  effective  and 


202  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

sportsmanlike — by  flight-shooting,  by  stalking  with  a 
te;ira,  and  by  shooting  over  decoys.  Flight-shooting  in 
the  North  rarely  affords  any  sport,  unless  by  mere  acci- 
dent. On  rare  occasions,  the  gunner  may  find  a  fly-way 
along  some  low  swale  or  strip  of  green  country,  lying  in 
the  path  of  the  moving  bands  of  birds,  but  this  is  so 
infrequent  an  occurrence  that  it  barely  deserves  mention. 
The  commonest  way  of  shooting  the  golden  plover,  in 
Illinois,  Indiana,  Iowa,  Kansas,  Nebraska  and  Dakota,  is 
by  means  of  a  team.  The  birds  can  rarely  be  approached 
closely  enough  on  foot,  but  they  do  not  so  readily  take 
fright  at  a  vehicle  or  at  horses  or  cattle.  When,  there- 
fore, a  flock  has  been  discovered  feeding  upon  some  green 
field,  strip  of  meadow,  or  wide  stretch  of  prairie,  the 
shooter,  or  shooters — for  several  may  indulge  in  this 
sport  together — drive  quietly  and  slowly  in  that  direction, 
not  advancing  too  directly  upon  the  flock,  but  aiming  to 
skirt  the  edge.  The  birds  will  lower  their  heads  and  dart 
along  the  ground,  pause,  lean  and  listen,  and  perhaps 
half-spread  their  wings,  but  unless  much  hunted  they 
will  usually  allow  a  wagon  to  be  driven  within  fifty  or 
sixty  yards  of  them;  then  away  they  go,  skimming  the 
ground  swiftly  for  a  little  way,  then  rising  and  heading 
off  for  another  feeding-ground,  whither  that  hunter  who 
is  best  acquainted  with  the  country  will  next  head  the 
party.  As  the  birds  begin  to  stretch  their  wings  over 
their  heads,  and  to  show  the  uneasiness  which  precedes 
the  flight,  the  shooters  at  once  descend  upon  the  side  of 
the  vehicle  opposite  the  flock,  and  walk  in  as  closely  as 
possible,  perhaps  taking  a  smart  run  of  a  few  steps  just 
before  firing.  No  true  sportsman,  of  course,  will  think 
of  firing  at  these  birds  upon  the  ground.  The  discharge 
is  apt  to  be  quite  fatal  enough,  as  the  birds  cross  and 
huddle  in  the  act  of  rising,  and  the  No.  8' s  or  7' swill 
make  sad  havoc  in  the  gleaming  golden  ranks.  It  is  not 


PLOVER-SHOOTING.  203 

unusual  for  one  gun  to  kill  from  100  to  150  golden  plover  a 
day,  in  this  style  of  shooting,  on  the  prairies  and  fields  of 
Northern  Illinois.  It  is  not  a  sort  of  sport  demanding 
any  especial  skill,  and  is  too  apt  to  be  followed  by  a 
rabble  of  pot-hunters,  boys,  greenhorns,  and  all  the 
unspeakable  mob  who  hang  on  the  skirts  of  decent  gun- 
nery. Followed  rightly,  it  is  fairly  successful  early  in 
the  season,  though  never  so  much  so  on  the  golden  plover 
as  on  the  upland  plover.  At  its  best  form,  and  in  the 
hands  of  gentlemen,  it  is  capable  of  being  a  bright, 
breezy,  cheerful,  and  not  unwholesome  sort  of  shooting. 
It  may  be  varied  by  stalking  on  horseback,  or  by  the  use 
of  a  led  horse.  Sometimes  a  good  caller  will  bring  a  flock 
around  for  a  second  shot  at  this  style  of  shooting.  This 
is  most  apt  to  happen  when  a  cripple  or  two  are  left 
standing  or  running.  Like  the  curlew,  the  golden  plover 
is  loath  to  leave  a  comrade  in  distress,  and  decoys  readily 
to  the  note  of  such  a  comrade. 

The  only  artistic  and  truly  sportsmanlike  form  of 
sport  at  the  golden  plover,  however,  is  in  shooting  over 
decoys,  to  which  the  birds  are  called  in  by  an  imitation 
of  their  whistle.  This  form  of  sport  is  not  well  under- 
stood, and  is  not  practiced  by  very  many  sportsmen, 
although  doubtless  it  will  soon  become  more  general .  It 
is  by  all  means  the  most  successful  and  the  most  interest- 
ing way  to  hunt  the  golden  plover.  It  is  the  method 
followed  by  the  most  skillful  market-hunters. 

In  this  form  of  sport,  the  general  principles  of  decoy- 
shooting  obtain,  and  the  old  duck-shooter  will  be  the  first 
to  take  up  the  idea  well.  The  main  difficulty,  of  course, 
is  to  learn  the  country  where  the  birds  are  feeding,  and 
to  map  out  the  fly-ways  between  the  feeding-grounds. 
When  such  a  fly- way  has  once  been  established,  the 
shooter  who  finds  it  will  not  be  forced  to  change  his  blind 
so  often  as  the  duck-shooter,  and  he  will  have  to  deal 


204  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

with  a  bird  far  less  wary  than  the  cunning  wild  fowl. 
AVhen,  therefore,  he  has  gained  a  knowledge  of  the  local 
trading  of  the  birds,  and  found  their  crossing-points,  he 
may  comfortably  seat  himself,  and  not  bother  about  a 
possible  change  of  the  flight.  He  may,  perhaps,  shoot  a 
week  out  of  one  blind,  and  kill  as  many  birds  the  last 
day  as  the  first.  If  he  spends  his  time  chasing  around 
over  the  prairies,  he  probably  will  not  get  half  so  many 
in  the  total  bag. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  decoys  must  not 
go  down  upon  the  feeding-ground,  but  upon  a  passage- 
way between  two  feeding-grounds.  Such  a  passage-way 
can  be  determined  only  by  a  study  of  the  flight.  The 
golden  plover  feeds  on  small  insects,  grasshoppers,  sur- 
face worms,  tender  vegetation,  and  the  seeds  of  grasses 
and  certain  herbs.  A  field  of  sprouting  oats,  a  green 
meadow,  or  a  last  year' s  plowing  is  apt  to  be  frequented 
by  them.  If  disturbed  on  such  a  ground,  they  fly  to  the 
nearest  similar  ground  they  have  discovered,  which  may 
be  half  a  mile  or  two  miles  away.  A  good  bit  of  meadow 
lying  between  the  two  feeding-grounds,  in  a  place  promi- 
nent enough  to  be  readily  seen  from  a  distance,  will  be  a 
.likely  place  to  put  out  the  decoys.  The  birds  will  not 
observe  any  very  definite  line  in  going  and  coining,  for 
they  are  not  so  methodical  as  wild  geese,  but  they  will 
pass  near  enough  to  be  reached  by  the  shooter's  call -note. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  move  once  or  twice  until  the  right 
spot  has  been  obtained,  where  the  birds  most  often  pass 
over  when  pursuectfrom  their  feed.  After  that,  you  will 
let  someone  else  do  the  pursuing,  while  you  do  the 
watching  and  the  shooting.  The  golden  plover  is  unlike 
the  wild  duck  in  the  matter  of  decoying.  It  is  an  old 
saying  among  duck-shooters  that  "  you  can't  drive  ducks 
to  decoys."  To  some  extent,  you  can  drive  golden  plover 
so,  for  they  are  a  very  gullible  bird,  affectionate,  constant,. 


PLOVER-SHOOTING.  206 

and  sociable  to  a  degree.  They  decoy  not  only  once,  but 
often  two  or  three  times,  to  the  false  flock  and  the 
deceitful  whistle,  until  sometimes  the  greater  part  of 
their  numbers  shall  lie  dead  upon  the  grass.  It  is  there- 
fore the  main  desire  of  the  blind-shooter  that  something 
shall  keep  the  birds  stirred  up.  They  have  no  regular 
movements  when  left  undisturbed,  although  in  some 
erratic  moment  a  whole  flock  may  take  a  notion  to  rise 
and  pass  over  to  some  other  distant  spot. 

The  blind  of  the  plover-shooter  need  be  no  very 
elaborate  affair.  A  fringed  pit  is  good,  but  if  the  shooter 
can  find  some  ditch  or  hollow  into  which  he  can  crawl, 
he  will  find  a  thin  barrier  of  grass  or  weeds  sufficient, 
provided  he.  keeps  still.  The  duck-shooter  will  under- 
stand this  perfectly.  It  is  the  motionless  shooter  in  the  thin 
blind  who  gets  the  birds.  A  heavy  blind  is  not  desirable. 

Plover  decoys  are  sold  on  the  market.  One  can 
secure  as  large  a  flock  as  he  desires,  but  if  he  has  half  a 
dozen  decoys  he  need  not  feel  afraid,  if  he  knows  how  to 
call  the  birds.  It  is  the  call  that  does  the  business.  A 
passing  flock  of  plover,  over  half  a  mile  away,  will  swing 
about  on  hearing  a  call,  and  will  then  fairly  hunt  for 
the  decoys  until  they  find  them.  The  best  possible  decoys 
are  the  wing-tipped  live  birds,  which  the  shooter,  if  he 
be  heartless  as  the  market-shooters  are,  will  always  pre- 
serve and  tie  out  among  his  flock.  These,  by  their 
motions  and  their  cries,  will  bring  the  wild  flock  in 
again  and  again.  Much  better  than  the  wooden  or  tin 
decoys  are  the  dead  birds,  set  up  on  sticks,  much  as 
the  duck-shooter  sets  out  his  dead  ducks  for  decoys. 
You  will  see  the  market-hunter  put  out  his  dead  birds 
so,  until  he  may  have  fifty  or  a  hundred  scattered  about 
him. 

Let  no  one  gather  the  idea  that  plover-shooting  over 
decoys  is  a  simple  thing,  which  any  fellow  can  do.  It  is 


206  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  make  a  mistake  in  set 
ting  out  the  decoys  which  shall  cost  you  half  your  birds. 
You  do  not  want  the  wind  to  blow  across  your  blind  to 
the  decoys,  or  across  the  decoys  toward  your  blind.  The 
decoys  must  be  at  one  side  of  the  blind.  Suppose  the 
wind  is  blowing  from  the  east  to  the  west,  you  put  out 
your  decoys  to  the  north  of  your  blind,  and  not  to  the 
east  or  west. 

The  decoys  should  be  set  out  in  a  longish  line,  rather 
wedge-shaped,  point  down  the  wind,  and  all  at  easy  gun- 
range — not  too  close.  Hearing  the  call,  the  birds  swing, 
cross  over,  and  come  up-wind  to  alight  among  the  decoys, 
drawing  to  the  encouraging  low  "whit,  whit"  of  the 
gunner.  By  no  means  shoot  when  the  birds  are  crossing, 
or  skimming  the  ground  on  any  side  but  the  decoy  side. 
They  will  swing  and  draw  in  obliquely  toward  the  blind, 
and  the  fire  should  be  reserved  till  then,  if  the  most  mur- 
derous effect  is  what  is  desired.  Even  when  the  point  of 
the  flock  is  well  within  range,  do  not  fire  at  the  leading 
birds;  aim  at  the  middle — oblique  of  the  flock;  the  charge 
will  then  rake  the  flock.  As  the  remnant  double  up  and 
rise,  the  second  barrel,  held  till  the  right  time,  goes 
far  toward  completing  the  work.  The  flock  passes  on, 
depleted.  The  low,  deceitful,  bewildering  whistle  still 
assails  their'ears,  and  they  see  still  the  likeness  of  their 
friends  standing  unmoved  amid  the  confusion.  Again 
they  swing,  their  own  notes  now  half -frightened  and  half - 
plaintive.  If  you  have  the  heart  for  further  slaughter, 
your  chance  has  come  again.  Twenty,  thirty,  or  forty 
birds  may  fall  to  your  gun  from  one  flock.  If  you  got 
only  six  or  eight,  your  friend,  and  possible  companion, 
the  market-hunter,  would  laugh  at  you.  Two  hundred 
in  a  day,  1,000  in  a  week — you  can  do  this  in  Northern 
Illinois,  even  to-day,  if  you  have  the  natural  heart  for 
butchery. 


PLOYER-SIIOOTltfG.  207 

But  in  order  to  be  thus  successful,  you  must  be  an 
expert  plover- shooter,  and  to  be  an  expert,  you  must  be 
able  to  call  the  birds.  You  may  buy  a  plover-call,  and 
from  it  produce  a  fairly  accurate  note;  but  the  trouble 
about  this  is  that  you  can  not  hear  it  at  any  great  dis- 
tance, which  latter  is  just  what  you  want.  The  best 
market-shooters  do  not  use  any  call,  but  put  their  fingers 
in  their  mouths  and  give  a  shrill  whistle.  I  do  not  think 
I  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  a  flock  of  plover  can  thus 
be  called  nearly  a  mile  down-wind.  The  note  is  a  keen 
"whit!  wheet-wheet!  whit!"  repeated  at  about  equal 
intervals.  It  can  only  be  gained  by  constant  practice  in 
the  field,  and  the  proficiency  with  which  one  can  execute 
the  call  is  about  the  measure  of  his  success  at  golden 
plover  shooting. 

There  lives  in  Chicago  an  Italian  about  forty  years  of 
age,  who  keeps  a  little  fruit-store  on  Wabash  Avenue, 
and  is  known  in  the  game  market  and  among  Chicago 
shooters  as  "Italian  Joe/'  or  sometimes  as  "Plover  Joe." 
He  hunts  for  the  market,  and  except  a  little  shooting 
at  woodcock,  he  never  hunts  anything  but  plover.  He 
shoots  over  decoys,  and  is  possessed  of  a  rare  judgment, 
which  makes  him  invariably  successful.  He  is  the  best 
plover-hunter  of  Chicago,  and  I  presume  there  is  not  one 
in  the  United  States  who  could  surpass  him.  His  whistle 
is  the  most  perfect  imitation  of  the  golden  plover's  call- 
note  I  ever  heard.  Back  in  the  rear  of  his  little  shop,  on 
a  warm  summer  day,  he  repeated  the  plover-call  again 
and  again  as  we  sat  talking,  and  the  loud,  clear  note 
rang  out  through  the  open  door,  and  pierced  the  jumbled 
din  of  the  noisy  street,  till  people  turned  and  listened. 
Then  Joe's  eyes  grew  far-away  in  their  look,  and,  as  the 
rumble  of  the  city  claimed  its  own,  I  presume  Joe 
dreamed  of  unsmoked  skies  and  fields  well  paved  with 
green. 


208  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

My  Italian  friend  gave  me  one  hint  that  shooters  may 
well  notice.  He  claimed  that  in  the  fall,  when  the  birds 
are  so  very  fat,  No.  7  is  a  better  shot  to  use  than  No.  8, 
as  the  latter  shot  is  hardly  heavy  enough  to  pierce  the 
heavy  layer  of  fat  which  fairly  swaddles  the  birds  at  that 
season  of  the  year.  In  the  spring,  No.  8  is  the  correct 
shot,  unless  one  is  trying  to  walk  upon  the  birds,  or  to 
shoot  them  from  a  vehicle  after  they  have  grown  wild. 

For  the  upland  plover,  my  market-shooter  expressed 
an  unqualified  contempt,  partly  because  it  brings  so  little 
in  the  market,  and  partly  because  it  can  not  be  worked 
with  decoys.  Neither  did  he  care  for  the  "  May  plover," 
"prairie  plover,"  "gray  plover,"  or  "sand-snipe," 
whose  dense  flocks  sometimes  wheel  in  over  the  decoys 
and  leave  heavy  tribute  behind  them.  We  also  can 
afford  to  leave  this  latter  little  bird  out  of  our  consid- 
eration as  a  game  bird,  and  now  pass  on  to  our  second 
plover,  not  so  good  a  game  bird  as  the  golden  plover, 
but  perhaps  even  more  widely  known. 

THE  UPLAND  PLOVER  (Bartramia  longicanda,  Less.). 
— This  bird  is  called  "grass  plover"  in  Texas  and  most 
of  the  South,  and  in  the  Southwest.  It  is  called  "  papa- 
botte"  in  New  Orleans,  where  it  is  much  prized  as  a 
delicacy.  It  has  different  local  names  in  the  North,  some- 
times being  known  as  the  "  yellow-leg,"  which  is  wrong, 
as  confusing  it  with  the  yellow-shanked  tatler,  and 
besides  as  being  not  descriptive.  It  is  sometimes  loosely 
called  "prairie  runner,"  "spring  plover,"  or  "tilt-up." 
The  name  of  "upland  plover,"  however,  is  one  very 
widely  known  for  it,  and  will  instantly  bring  the  bird  to 
mind  for  every  upland  shooter  in  Illinois,  Indiana,  lou  a. 
Kansas,  Nebraska,  Dakota,  and  the  entire  West  and  mid- 
continent  generally. 

If  the  golden  plover  is  a  bold  traveler,  the  upland 
plover  is  yet  more  so.  Few  birds  are  more  widely 


PLOVER-SHOOTraG.  209 

scattered.  It  is  found  pretty  much  all  over  the  United  • 
States,  as  far  north  as  the  plains  of  the  Saskatchewan, 
and  as  far  south  as  Mexico,  Central  America,  and  the 
pampas  of  South  America.  A  few  specimens  of  it  have 
been  killed  in  England;  one  specimen  was  killed  near 
Sydney,  Australia;  one  was  taken  on  the  Island  of  Malta, 
in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  it  sometimes  visits  the 
Island  of  Trinidad.  It  has  been  known  to  breed  so  far 
north  as  Fort  Yukon,  also  in  the  mountains  of  Lower 
Mackenzie,  and  in  the  Gens  de  Large  Mountains,  200  miles 
northeast  of  the  Yukon.  It  is  occasionally  found  in  the 
sparser  districts  of  New  England,  and  once  bred  plenti- 
fully on  Long  Island  and  throughout  Pennsylvania.  It 
fairly  swarms  at  times  on  the  lower  table-lands  of  Utah 
and  Colorado,  and  overruns  Kansas  and  Nebraska  in  large 
flocks.  It  breeds  very  largely  in  Northern  Illinois  and 
Southern  Wisconsin  to-day,  and  the  bulk  of  the  flight 
does  not  go  any  farther  north  than  that.  It  leaves  South- 
western Texas  from  the  1st  to  the  10th  of  May,  and  re-ap- 
pears there  in  July,  passing  thence  on  south  by  Septem- 
ber or  October.  It  appears  in  the  North  with  the  first 
warm  weather  of  settled  spring,  about  the  time  the  young 
grass  is  knee-high  to  it  on  the  burned-over  prairies  or 
high  swales.  It  passes  farther  north  than  Kansas,  but 
in  the  latitude  of  Northern  Illinois  it  lingers  all  through 
the  summer,  and  breeds  on  the  high  prairies.  At  the  date 
of  this  writing  (July,  1889),  I  could  go  out  any  day, 
within  twenty  miles  of  Chicago,  and  kill  three  or  four 
dozen  of  the  upland  plover,-  did  I  care  to  do  so  at  such  a 
season  of  the  year.  I  should  be  inclined,  from  my  own 
experience,  to  name  Illinois,  Kansas,  Nebraska,  and  the 
Indian  Territory  as  the  best  shooting-grounds  for  this 
bird.  It  is  usually  noticed  more  abundantly  in  the  spring 
than  in  the  fall  in  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  although  it  is 
not  then  nearly  so  fat  and  tender  as  in  the  fall.  There  is 

14 


210  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

no  bird  that  flies  which  takes  on  so  remarkable  an  amount 
of  fat  as  the  upland  plover.  I  have  often  known  them  to 
split  open  across  the  breast  upon  falling  from  no  very 
great  height.  They  fatten  very  readily  when  feeding 
upon  wheat- stubble,  and  are  then  delicious  eating. 

I  presume  we  shall  be  obliged  to  call  this  bird  a  snipe, 
although  in  habit  and  appearance  it  is  so  unlike  one. 
We  may  find  some  kinship  to  the  snipe  in  the  bill  of  the 
upland  plover,  which  is  longer  than  the  head,  and  slightly 
curved.  The  legs  are  yellow-gray  in  color,  the  feet  being 
darker.  The  head  is  dark  brown,  striped  with  a  pale 
yellow  median  line,  as  in  the  jacksnipe.  The  sides  of  the 
head  and  neck  are  streaked  with  a  dusky  color,  and  the 
eye  is  surrounded  with  a  yellow-white  strip  It  is  a 
graceful  and  beautiful  bird. 

The  upland  plover  migrates  by  night,  and  also  by  day. 
It  usually  flies  high,  except  in  rough  weather,  and  moves 
in  straggling  bands.  In  Iowa  City,  Iowa,  in  1878,  I  once 
heard  a  passage  of  plover  at  night  which  lasted  for  over 
an  hour.  The  air  seemed  full  of  their  soft,  plaintive  cries 
of  "plitt!  plitt!  pu-litt!"  I  think  there  were  also  some 
golden  plover  in  that  flight. 

The  upland  plover  does  not  customarily  feed  in  so 
large  flocks  as  the  golden  plover,  and  even  when  one 
finds  them  in  considerable  abundance,  they  are  apt  to 
appear  in  long,  strung-out  bands  or  scattered  little 
bunches.  They  do  not  decoy  regularly  enough  to  war- 
rant the  use  of  decoys,  and  the  shooter  need  not  waste 
time  in  putting  out  a  flock.  I  have,  in  a  few  instances, 
shot  them  over  decoys  made  of  dead  birds,  but  could 
hardly  say  that  they  drew  in  to  the  flock;  nor  is  it  cer- 
tain that  they  will  pay  more  than  the  slightest  attention 
to  a  good  imitation  of  their  whistle,  although  they  may 
take  a  notion  to  draw  in  to  a  call-note  once  in  awhile, 
when  about  to  alight  upon  a  feeding-ground.  They  are 


211 

» 

nervous,  keen,  erratic  little  birds,  sometimes  so  tame  that 
they  can  be  approached  at  a  short  distance,  and  again  so 
wild  that  the  gunner  can  hardly  get  within  range,  except 
by  the  most  careful  maneuvering.  It  is  hardly  worth 
while  to  undertake  hunting  them  on  foot.  Riding  upon 
them  in  a  vehicle  is  the  best  way  to  handle  them.  That 
is  the  way  they  are  usually  hunted  in  the  West  and 
Southwest,  and  it  is  a  very  successful  method.  This  is  a 
popular  form  of  sport  in  Nebraska  and  Kansas,  and  great 
baus  are  often  made,  fifty  birds  to  a  gun  being  no  extraor- 
dinary score.  I  am  sure  I  can  not  see  why  a  couple  of 
dozen  would  not  do  as  well.  In  speaking  further  of  the 
sport  of  upland  plover  shooting,  I  shall  quote  partly 
from  an  article  on  that  sport  which  I  had  occasion  to 
write,  in  1889,  in  the  course  of  a  series  of  articles  upon 
field  sports,  published  in  the  Globe- Democrat  newspaper, 
of  St.  Louis.  Speaking  in  the  early  spring,  this  recountal 
said: 

';  This  bird,  in  its  physical  configuration,  might  appear 
to  be  a  cross  between  a  jacksnipe  and  a  sparrow-hawk, 
but  it  isn't,  although  it  is  marked  somewhat  like  the 
former  bird,  and  in  its  flight  might,  at  a  little  distance,  be 
mistaken  for  the  latter,  which  it  resembles  in  bigness  of 
body  and  spread  of  wing.  The  upland  plover,  however, 
although  it  often  hovers  aloft,  or  skates  down  with 
strongly  curved  wing  to  some  selected  lighting-spot,  does 
not  sail  in  long  parallels,  as  does  the  little  hawk,  but  con- 
tinuously works  its  passage  with  repeated  flappings  of 
the  wings,  and  in  its  hasty  flights  its  wings  describe  so 
large  an  arc  that  they  seem  to  touch  like  wide  fans,  first 
above  and  then  below  the  body  of  the  bird. 

'•This  peculiarity  will  betray  it  at  once  to  the  hunter 
who  has  become  familiar  with  it,  even  did  he  not  become 
advised  of  its  presence  by  that  long,  liquid,  silvery,  and 
sweetly  musical  note  which  drops  down  like  a  spoonful 


212  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

of  melted  vocal  pearls  out  of  some  unidentified  corner  of 
the  sky.  This  'whistle'  of  the  upland  plover — though 
it  is  not  more  a  whistle  than  the  softest  breathings  of  the 
flute — is  the  purest  and  sweetest,  the  most  inimitable 
and  unapproachable  sound  in  Nature.  As  the  note  of  the 
mourning-dove  is  the  very  soul  of  melancholy  grief,  the 
likeness  of  the  plaint  of  widowed  woe,  so  may  this  trans- 
lucent, innocent  sound,  so  light  that  you  can  see  through 
it,  almost,  and  sweet  as  the  dew  that  hangs  on  any  honey- 
vine,  be  likened  to  the  careless  and  unsyllabled  laugh  of 
a  virgin  soul,  too  young  to  think  of  widows  or  of  brides. 
It  is  so  very  sweet  that  Nature,  always  fit  and  proper  in 
her  ways,  surrounds  it  with  mystery,  so  that  on  a  bright, 
warm  day  of  spring,  when  one  hears  this  gentle,  spark- 
ling sound  bubble  out  of  the  blue  sky,  apparently  just 
above  his  head,  he  may  look  up  and  see  no  bird,  and  may 
further  look  about  him  on  all  hands,  examining  earth 
and  sky  alike,  and  yet  find  no  trace  of  the  origin  of  the 
winged  music.  At  last  there  may  be  the  flit  of  a  gray 
wing  across  a  half -section  of  plowed  ground,  and  finally 
he  may  see  this  feathered  ghost  alight  yet  farther  away, 
tossing  both  wings  apeak  high  over  its  head,  and  utter- 
ing a  shrill,  joyful  'wy-ee-ee,'  which  may  be  heard  a  mile. 
"  When  the  migrating  birds  alight,  as  they  do  pretty 
much  all  through  the  wilder  prairie  sections  of  Missouri, 
Kansas,  Nebraska,  Iowa,  and  kindred  States,  they  usually 
overrun  the  country  very  rapidly,  so  that  a  locality  unten- 
anted  by  them  one  day  may  on  the  day  following  be  fairly 
swarming  with  them.  They  do  not  affect  low,  marshy 
grounds,  as  their  cousins  in  the  long-legged  family,  the 
snipe,  but  keep  up  on  the  high  prairies,  being  especially 
fond  of  ground  that  has  been  recently  burned  over.  If 
there  are  any  plovers  in  the  country,  they  are  pretty  sure 
to  make  their  appearance  on  or  near  such  a  strip  of 
ground.  They  are  also  partial  to  good,  soft,  warm, 


PLOVER-SHOOTING.  213 

plowed  ground,  especially  such  as  lies  on  high,  rolling 
hills  or  table-lands.  Sometimes,  too,  the}-  patronize  dry 
corn-fields,  or  closely  cropped  meadows.  They  will  fly 
around  over  a  last  year's  stubble-field,  which  is  being 
turned  under  by  the  plow,  and  alight  close  behind  the 
plowman  in  the  fresh  furrow;  but  in  that  case  they  are  as 
likely  to  hop  over  on  the  dry  ground  as  on  the  fresh. 
They  feed  mostly  on  seeds,  fresh  young  grasses  or  herbs, 
and  small  insects.  These  birds  were  once  more  plentiful 
in  Iowa  and  Missouri  than  they  are  now.  '1  hey  have 
kept  near  the  front  edge  of  civilization,  although  they 
are  not  strangers  even  in  such  States  as  Illinois  and 
Indiana.  In  the  Indian  Territory,  they  are  very  abun- 
dant, although  I  never  heard  of  anyone  caring  enough  for 
them  to  go  so  far  as  that  for  them.  They  are  very  plenti- 
ful pretty  much  all  over  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  in  season, 
and  probably  sport  at  them  may  be  had  about  as  well  in 
those  States  as  anywhere. 

"The  hunter  for  upland  plover  does  not  need  any  dog. 
If  he  has  a  dog,  he  would  better  tie  him  up  at  home,  and 
then  shoot  him,  for  fear  he  would  get  loose.  Most  of  all, 
the  hunter  needs  a  horse,  or  team  of  horses,  properly 
broken  to  'stand  fire,'  and  a  light  rig  of  some  kind, 
which  will  admit  of  his  getting  in  and  out  very  quickly. 
The  upland  plover  is,  in  some  respects,  no  fool.  It  will 
rarely  allow  itself  to  be  approached  by  the  hunter  on 
foot,  and  although  a  few  birds  may  be  bagged  by  the 
walking  hunter,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  his  bag  will  be  light 
beside  that  of  the  shooter  wrho  has  a  forty-year-old  horse, 
blind  in  both  eyes,  deaf,  and  of  a  sweet  and  peaceful  dis- 
position. A  very  good  rig  for  plover-shooting  is  a  light 
two-wheeled  road-cart,  with  no  body,  and  only  a  seat  and 
a  pair  of  wheels.  With  this  sort  of  an  outfit,  the  hunter 
can  travel  over  almost  any  kind  of  country,  and  can 
easily  jump  out  and  fire  when  he  has  worked  in  close 


214  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

enough  to  his  birds.  The  subsequent  proceedings  all 
depend  on  the  horse.  If  that  animal  takes  a  notion  to  go 
home  just  then — and  under  such  circumstances  the  staid- 
est  old  family  horses  often  develop  unaccountable  kitten- 
ishness — the  hunter  can  do  little  but  follow  patiently 
after,  and  pick  his  chariot  off  the  first  wire  fence.  He  will 
swear,  but  that  won't  help  him.  The  etiquette  of  plover- 
shooting  admits  of  swearing  when  one"  s  horse  runs  away. 

"When  it  has  been  determined  that  the  plover  are 
1  using  on'  a  certain  piece  of  ground,  the  shooter,  or 
shooters — for  several  may  practice  this  sport  together 
very  nicely  if  their  wagon  be  big  enough — repair  to  that 
neighborhood  on  almost  any  day,  or  at  any  time  of  the 
day.  The  weather  does  not  make  any  insuperable  differ- 
ence. There  is  no  necessity  to  get  out  betimes  for  an 
early  morning  hunt,  nor  is  there  any  bundling  up  or 
waiting  on  some  lonesome  stand,  knee-deep  in  mud  and 
water.  Plover-hunting  is  a  leisurely,  fair-weather  sort 
of  sport,  a  truly  dilettante  sport,  and  if  the  plover- 
hunter  were  not  often  a  duck-hunter,  in  season,  there 
would  be  justice  in  the  suspicion  that  he  had  something 
of  the  sybarite  in  his  disposition,  rather  than  the  rugged, 
hardy  spirit  of  the  genuine  hunter. 

"  In  the  bright,  warm  days,  however,  when  the  blood 
takes  on  a  mellow  mildness  in  the  veins,  and  no  other 
game  is  in  the  land  to  stimulate  the  slumbering  ambition, 
the  best  of  shooters  might  be  forgiven  for  taking  a  day 
at  the  plover,  or  perhaps  two  days,  in  the  short  season 
of  a  few  weeks  when  plover-shooting  is  at  its  best.  And 
let  the  older  hunter  take  his  days  near  the  close  of  the 
season,  when  the  persistent  pounding  of  the  greenhorns 
has  rendered  the  birds  more  wild.  There  will  then  be  an 
added  difficulty  to  the  sport,  which  will  give  it  additional 
claim  to  consideration.  Early  in  the  season,  before  the 
birds  have  mastered  the  fact  that  man  is  a  ravenous  and 


PLOVER-SHOOTING.  215 

wantonly  cruel  animal,  they  are  easily  approachable,  and 
may  easily  be  knocked  down  by  a  moderately  skillful 
shot.  I  have  even  heard  of  their  being  shot  on  the 
ground  by  some  persons,  although  I  do  not  believe  that 
there  is  any  foolish  butcher  so  self-distrustful  of  his  skill 
as  to  creep  up  on  this  open-minded  little  bird  and  shoot 
it  with  a  shot-gun  before  it  has  taken  wing.  The  man 
who  would  do  that  would  steal.  Investigation  will  show 
the  truth  of  this  assertion.  Even  an  indifferent  wing- 
shot  may  bag  fifty,  sixty,  or  even  100  plovers  a  day 
on  a  country  thickly  occupied  by  them,  as  often  hap- 
pens. Such  shooting  as  this  does  not  appeal  to  the 
thorough  sportsman. 

"It  sometimes  happens,  however,  that  these  long-legged 
little  fellows  acquire  a  certain  shrewdness  of  their  own, 
which  makes  their  capture  by  no  means  a  foregone  con- 
clusion. They  will  take  a  long  spurt  across  the  field  or 
prairie,  fairly  making  their  slender  legs  twinkle  as  the'y 
sprint  along  ahead  of  the  shooter;  then  they  will 
straighten  up,  look  around,  and  if  they  think  the  shooter 
is  getting  too  close,  will  take  wing,  with  a  nonchalant 
'  Oh,  quit!  quit!'  In  such  a  flight,  they  skim  along  close 
to  the  ground.  They  go  a  pretty  good  pace,  and  the  gun- 
ner who  jumps  one  at  forty  yards  rise  is  by  no  means 
certain  of  knocking  it  down. 

"  The  proper  gun  for  upland  plover  shooting  would  be 
a  16-gauge,  if  we  shot  that  gun  very  much  in  this  country, 
or  if  we  could  all  afford  to  have  as  many  guns  as  we 
liked.  Barring  that,  the  12-gauge,  that  best  of  all  guns 
for  an  all-around  weapon,  will  do  only  too  well.  The 
size  of  shot  is  naturally  No.  8,  and  the  powder  charge 
should  not  be  over  three  drams.  Of  course,  there  will  be 
some  shooters  who  will  hunt  plovers  with  duck-guns  and 
duck-loads,  but  such  fellows  want  the  earth,  and  are  afraid 
some  of  it  will  get  away.  They  are  the  kicking  brethren. 


216  UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

They  would  kick  if  they  were  hung,  as  the  saying  is  in 
Arizona.  The  man  who  hunts  plover  with  a  10-gauge 
gun  thinks  he  has  the  best  gun  .on  earth.  He  can  kill 
birds  farther  than  you  can.  He  can  also  dive  deeper  and 
come  up  cleaner  and  jump  farther  than  you  can,  and  tell 
you  who  will  be  the  next  President. 

"Upland  plover  shooting  is  usually  not  so  good  in  the 
fall  as  it  is  in  the  spring,  but  it  would  be  far  better  for  all 
our  sportsmen  never  to  shoot  a  plover  in  the  spring. 
When  they  reach  the  States  of  the  Middle  North,  they 
are  already  paired  and  ready  to  nest;  indeed,  many  and 
many  will  be  found  large  with  eggs.  If  we  would  but  stop  to 
think!  If  we  would  but  lay  up  our  guns  for  half  the  year 
in  these  times  ofi  lessening  numbers!  We  do  not  think 
of  our  boys  in  the  cradle.  We  are  robbing  our  boys  of 
all  their  game  as  rapidly  as  we  can.  We  are  leaving  for 
them,  not  the  heritage  of  health  and  strength  and  con- 
fident manliness  which  comes  of  skill  at  outdoor  sports, 
but  the  narrow  chest  and  white  face  of  the  counting-room. 
We  do  not  mean  that  our  boys  shall  ride  and  shoot;  we 
want  them  to  add  and  measure.  We  do  not  care  that  they 
shall  keep  alive  either  the  hunter  spirit,  which  is  the 
warrior  spirit,  or  the  love  of  the  outdoor  air,  which  is  the 
poet  spirit.  We  want  our  boys  to  grow  up  thin  and 
white.  They  will  make  more  money  then,  and  so  the 
country  will  advance  toward  the  happy  state  of  those 
countries  whose  boys  hire  out  as  bare-legged  models  to 
painters  in  search  of  ruins. 

.  ';  May  our  slim  and  sweet-voiced  little  bird  long  do  its 
humble  share  toward  preserving  us  from  the  hunterless 
days.  No — more  than  that;  let  us  preserve  it,  not  simply 
from  any  selfishness  or  care  for  ultimate  gain,  but  because 
it  is  one  of  Nature' s  own  creatures,  and  because  it  is  so 
cheerful  and  so  confident,  and  because  its  voice  is  like  the 
laugh  of  the  girl  we  loved  long  years  ago." 


THE    WILD    PIGEON. 

(Columba  lima.) 


BY  WILLIAM  BRUCE  LEFFESGWELL. 


takes  no  prophetic  eye  to  look  into  the 
future,  and,  as  all  wise  men  judge  it,  by 
the  past,  to  see  that  the  greed  of  the 
human  race  will  eventually  wipe  from 
the  face  of  the  earth  the  wild  game  of 
the  fields,  the  fowls  of  the  air. 

While  I  have  written  many  articles 
.  on  subjects  pertaining  to  field  sports, 
never  have  I  written  *one  wherein  the 
spirit  of  sadness  pervaded  the  innermost  recesses  of  my 
heart  as  does  this  one  of  "The  Wild  Pigeon."  As  a 
child,  I  was  bred  and  reared  among  them;  the  gigantic 
oaks  and  hickories  that  threw  their  umbrageous  shades 
o'er  the  roof  of  my  home,  were  frequently  the  roosting- 
places  of  these  now  extinct  birds,  while  the  trees  of  the 
forests,  beneath  whose  branches  I  passed  so  many  of  the 
summer  hours  in  my  boyhood,  were  enlivened  by  the 
sparkling  colors  of  the  pigeons  as  they  sat  in  thick 
bunches  basking  in  the  sunshine,  or  teetered  and  cooed 
on  the  dead  limbs  of  the  trees  over  my  head;  then,  again, 
I  have  often  stood  in  the  farm-yard,  gazing  in  rapt 
admiration,  as  the  setting  sun  was  darkened  by  the 
traveling  flocks,  while  flock  after  flock  seemed  to  dissolve 
and  extend  into  endless  space,  for  while  the  darkness  of 
night  hid  them  from  my  view,  the  fluttering  of  their 
strong  wings  could  long  be  heard  after  the  day  had 

(217) 


218 


UPLAND    SHOOTING. 


closed,  and  the  earth  had  gone  to  rest.  How  pretty  the 
sight!  A  sweeping  line  of  graceful  undulations,  bur- 
nished by  the  setting  sun  with  colors  of  blue  and  gold, 
while  the  purple  and  orange  seemed  to  cast  upon  the 
clear  sky  a  rosier  hue.  To  one  who  has  never  seen  wrild 
pigeons  in  their  flight,  neither  the  tongue  or  pen  of  man 
can  show  its  beauties,  for  when  they  skim  the  heights  of 
the  ancient  trees,  the  air  is  alive  with  flitting  colors,  the 
world  is  on  the  move,  and  the  very  sky  is  filled  with 

gladness.  And  now  they  are 
gone!  Gone  never  to  return; 
they  who  were  ubiquitous, 
extending  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific,  from  the  ex- 
treme North  to  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico;  whose  familiar  forms 
were  known  to  civilization 
in  the  East,  the  Indians  of 
the  West,  the  slaves  of  the 
South,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  North;  they  are  gone. 
They  did  not  meet  their  fate 
because  of  disease,  because 

necessity  demanded  it,  but  by  reason  of  the  power 
Divinity  decreed,  that  the  fowls  and  beasts  should  be 
subservient  to  the  will  of  man.  Having  this  power,  and 
seeing  in  these  birds  a  commodity  which  represented 
dollars  and  cents,  these  birds,  to  their  destroyers,  were 
only  as  meat,  sought  for  and  destroyed  to  bring  to  the 
pockets  of  their  pursuers  and  persecutors  money — just 
the  same  as  cattle  or  swine.  It  wasn't  done  by  sports- 
men, for  no  man  having  the  heart  of  a  sportsman  could 
go  into  a  roost  of  pigeons  and  strike  down  the  innocent 
fledgeling  with  a  club,  while  its  mouth  was  crying  for 
food,  and  its  mother  fluttered  and  circled  around  it,  try- 


THE    WILD    PIGEON.  219 

ing  to  win  it  with  piteous  cries  to  take  wing  and  fly  with 
her  away  from  this  threatening  danger.  It  hardly  seems 
possible, 'that  the  countless  millions  of  a  few  years  ago 
are  now  dead,  and  forever  removed  from  our  sight;  but 
alas!  it  is  too  true.  This  month,  the  month  of  April, 
used  to  be  the  time  of  their  coming;  the  season  is  the 
same,  the  same  gentle,  pattering  rains;  the  warm  south 
winds  are  blowing  as  freshly ;  the  budding  trees  are  swell- 
ing with  a  new  life;  the  robins  and  the  bluebirds  have 
long  been  with  us;  the  forests,  the  meadows,  the  streams, 
look  as  of  old;  the  rivulets  course  as  merrily  through  the 
timber-lands,  and  lose  themselves  in  their  meanderings; 
the  sky  looks  the  same,  the  same  drifting  clouds  of  white 
tinged  with  blue;  the  wind  soughing  as  sweetly  through 
the  upland  hills;  the  placid  bosom  of  the  Mississippi  is 
disturbed  by  passing  steamers,  rolling  along  in  grandest 
waves,  that  decrease  as  they  are  left  from  the  boat,  and 
gradually  grow  smaller  and  smaller,  until  they  f orm>  tiny 
crests  of  white  foam,  or  whirl  in  spinning  eddies,  to  be 
dissolved  in  the  swift  current;  but  over  the  tree-tops, 
where  I  have  so  often  seen  myriads  of  pigeons  flecking 
the  sky  with  a  deeper  blue,  to-day  no  living  bird  is  in 
sight. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods;  there  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest  the  cares  of  business  are  forgotten, 
and  our  life  is  renewed,  sweetly  rejuvenated,  for  we  can 
not  silently  commune  with  Nature  unless  becoming  better 
for  it.  Only  yesterday,  I  wandered  beneath  the  branches 
of  the  sturdy  trees  where  years  ago  I  passed  so  many  happy 
hours,  and  the  gap  of  twenty  years  was  closed,  and  in 
imagination  I  was  again  one  of  the  number  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  evening  flight.  Away  off  to  the 
south,  the  mild  wind  carried  to  our  expectant  ears  the 
faint  boom  of  the  first  gun,  a  signal  to  us  of  the  approach- 
ing hosts;  then  another  shot:  still  another,  and  we  traced 


220  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  coming  birds  by  these  frequent  reports.  No  birds  in 
sight,  yet  our  signals  of  warning  were  unfailing,  and 
when  the  deep  roar  of  some  gun  a  few  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  us  rolled  and  echoed  through  the  hills  and  val- 
leys, the  cry  resounded  along  the  hill-sides:  "Down! 
Down  !  Here  they  come  by  the  thousands  !' '  At  this  time, 
the  advancing  flock  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  hill-tops  far 
ahead  of  us,  and  everyone,  man  and  boy,  quickly  secreted 
himself  behind  the  first  bush  or  tree  and  awaited  the  con- 
gregated flock's  approach;  then,  when  near  enough,  the 
shooter  would  arise  and  pour  from  his  destructive  gun 
the  leaden  hail,  while  the  frightened  flock  would  break 
its  solid  ranks  and  sheer  from  the  dangerous  place;  but  of 
no  avail,  for  there  were  hunters  secreted  all  through  the 
woods,  and  "bang!"  "bang!"  the  guns  roared  out,  until, 
within  a  few  acres  space,  perhaps  twenty  different  hunters 
fired  into  the  flock,  while  the  birds  separated  at  each 
report,  and  quickly  came  together  again,  veering  from  the 
spot  where  the  ascending  smoke  was,  or  at  times  turning 
completely  around,  and  then  advancing  by  another  route. 
As  the  day  sped  along,  the  flight  increased  until,  at  times, 
flocks  of  all  sizes  were  to  be  seen,  all  flying  in  the  same 
direction,  but  each  succeeding  flock  followed  its  predeces- 
sor as  accurately  as  if  on  a  marked  line.  This  peculiarity 
in  their  flight  is  noticeable,  for  they  fly  over  the  hills  and 
dart  down  the  vales  in  graceful,  sweeping  lines,  which  are 
particularly  pleasing  to  one's  sight.  During  their  flight 
it  was  amusing  to  see  the  boys  shooting  them ;  all  kinds 
of  guns  were  represented,  and  fortunate  the  boy  who 
owned  a  gun,  for  he  was  admired  and  envied  by  all  his 
companions;  they  followed  him  with  undisguised  admira- 
tion, and  their  youthful  voices  were  always  first  and  loud- 
est in  asserting  claims  for  disputed  birds.  The  flocks 
were  simply  immense,  and  it  was  impossible,  when  many 
fired  into  the  same  flock,  to  tell  who  brought  down  the 


THE  WILD   PIGEON.  221 

birds;  there  was  no  chance  for  field  etiquette,  but  to  the 
captor  belonged  the  spoils,  and  my  young  legs  were  as 
successful  in  swelling  the  number  I  took  home,  as  the 
science  I  displayed  in  shooting.  Science  ?  It  makes  me 
smile  now  to  think  of  it.  Really,  I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing  as  displaying  science,  for  the  birds  were  so  thickly 
bunched  together,  that  I  blazed  away  into  the  densest  por- 
tion of  the  flock;  then,  when  one  fell,  no  base-ball  player 
ever  dropped  his  bat  quicker  than  I  did  my  gun,  and,  like 
a  streak,  I  lit  out  for  the  bird,  frequently  rolling  over 
and  over  down  the  hill,  or  coming  into  contact  with  some 
other  boy  who  was  playing  the  same  game.  For  a  wonder, 
boyish  fights  wTere  of  rare  occurrence;  for  there  was  a 
tacit  understanding  among  the  boys,  that  the  first  one 
having  the  bird  in  hand,  when  it  was  uncertain  who  shot 
it,  held  the  legal  right  of  ownership.  This  was  very  try- 
ing to  our  mothers;  but  one  reinforcement  of  our  pants  at 
the  knees,  and  on  the  places  most  used  in  taking  the  slides 
for  the  birds,  usually  lasted  through  the  pigeon  season. 
At  this  time,  my  shooting  friends  consider  me  to  be  a 
cool,  deliberate  shot,  one  not  prone  to  excitement;  but 
in  those  days — Well !  I  used  to  have  a  body-guard 
whose  special  duty  was,  one  to  watch  that  my  ramrod 
didn't  get  lost,  another  my  shot-bottle,  another  my 
pow-der  horn,  while  the  fourth  was  a  general  substitute, 
whose  duty  was  to  fill  the  vacancy  in  the  event  of  desertion 
or  disability  of  any  of  the  regulars,  and,  in  case  the  paper 
wadding  was  lost,  to  gather  sufficient  mullein -leaves  to 
keep  the  battle  raging.  How  I  used  to  practice  loading 
quickly !  But  my  maneuvers  at  home  and  in  the  field 
were  far  different.  A  single-barrel  muzzle-loader;  trying 
to  gauge  and  measure  in  the  palm  of  my  hand  four  fingers 
of  powder  after  it  was  rammed  into  the  barrel  of  the  gun; 
then  the  same  motions  to  go  through  with  the  shot, 
when  all  the  while  my  chums  were  urging  haste,  while 


222  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

the  air  above  and  around  me  was  one  fluttering  mass  of  blue 
and  red,  and  the  spiked  tails  of  the  birds  flitted  just  out 
of  my  reach.  Excited?  I  was  simply  wild,  and  those 
boys  rattled  me  still  more  with  such  exclamations  as 
"Down!"'  "Down!"  "Oh,  look  at  them!  right  over 
your  head."  "There!  there!"  "Whale  it  into  that 
bunch. ' '  ' '  Bah !  you  never  touched  a  feather. "  "  Oh,  hurry 
up!  you're  too  slow."  Then,  when  in  my  haste  and  excite- 
ment I  poured  the  shot  in  first,  one  would  exclaim: 
"Oh,  Gosh!  if  he  hasn't  put.  in  the  shot  instead  of  the 
powder."  Confound  those  boys!  It  was  many  years  ago 
that  they  said  those  things,  and  their  voices  still  ring  in 
my  ears;  but  then  at  night  I  always  forgave  them,  for 
we  went  home  in  the  gloaming  together,  proud  and  happy, 
a  nice  bunch  of  birds  for  each  to  carry — the  males  tied  in 
one  bunch,  with  their  pretty  red  breasts  together,  then 
both  sexes  mixed,  tied,  not  by  strings,  but  with  the  longest 
feathers  of  their  tails,  fastened  in  a  knot  at  the  silken 
ends,  while  the  quill  part  was  thrust  through  the  lower 
bill.  What  blessed  days  those  are  to  recall! — the  days  of 
our  youth.  No  successes  of  after  life  can  compare  with 
them;  for,  in  our  maturer  years,  some  day  we  find  our- 
selves in  the  forest,  and  the  mild,  soft  breeze  of  summer 
winds  plays  sweetest  music  through  the  trembling  leaves, 
the  birds  sing  their  melody  to  our  delighted  ears,  the 
grass  is  a  deeper  green,  the  violets  a  purer  purple,  and 
the  sky  a  more  lucid  blue — for  these  scenes  of  Nature 
transport  us  back,  we  forget  our  existence  as  men,  and," 
lifting  the  veil  of  years,  we  see  ourselves,  children  in 
thought  and  deed,  roaming  in  the  forest,  fishing  at  the 
stream,  or  gathering  flowers  in  the  meadows. 

The  immensity  of  some  of  these  flocks  of  pigeons 
almost  surpasses  belief,  and  it  is  well  for  those  of  us  who 
have  seen  and  enjoyed  these  sights  that  there  are  living 
witnesses  to  substantiate  what  we  say  of  them.  In  going 


THE   WILD   PIGEOX.  223 

to  their  roosting-places,  they  annually  flew  up  the  Valley 
of  the  Mississippi,  following  the  river  in  its  windings. 
In  this  vicinity,  they  flew  about  a  mile  west  of  the  city, 
sweeping  up  and  down  over  the  hills  and  valleys,  resem- 
bling the  long  tail  of  a  kite,  that  would  be  changed  into 
serpentine  form  by  the  fitful  wind.  East  of  us,  drifting 
rapidly  and  gracefully  over  the  tops  of  the  willows,  oaks, 
and  elms  in  the  bottom-land,  they  darkened  the  shores  of 
the  western  boundary  of  the  State  of  Illinois.  The  tall 
bluffs  of  Fulton,  sloping  gently  from  the  south,  terminate 
abruptly  at  the  north,  and  sink  into  miles  and  miles  of 
bottom-lands,  islands,  and  verdant  fields;  when  they 
reached  these  bluffs,  instead  of  dropping  down  and  flying 
over  the  islands,  they  crossed  the  Mississippi  River,  mean- 
dered over  the  bluffs  in  Iowa,  swelling  the  numbers  that 
had  passed  over  us,  and  disappeared  in  their  tireless 
flight.  At  that  time,  I  lived  in  Lyons,  Iowa,  one  of  the 
prettiest  little  cities  on  the  Mississippi  River — just  such  a 
spot  as  Nature  intended  for  a  town,  providing  it  herself 
with  all  natural  advantages.  The  hills  arose  back  of  us  in 
gradual  and  lofty  grandeur;  climbing  these  hills,  and 
brushing  through  the  thick  hazel -brush,  we  suddenly 
came  unaware  on  the  highest  elevation  of  the  hills,  and 
here  Nature  had  dispensed  with  trees,  brush,  and  vines, 
and  we  stepped  forth  and  beheld  the  most  beautiful 
prairie,  of  the  greenest  grass,  enlivened  and  beautified  by 
the  whitest  daisies,  the  yellowest  buttercups,  and  the 
purplest  violets.  Such  was  the  "Little  Prairie."  Com- 
ing as"  a  man  would  out  of  the  dense  forest,  and  unexpect- 
edly stepping  into  this  open  land,  the  heart  must  be  cold 
indeed  that  could  not  appreciate  it.  This  spot  was  about 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  square,  and  was  a  succession  of 
rolling  hills;  here  it  was  that  the  hunters  congregated 
from  the  town  and  waited  for  the  evening  flight.  As  they 
lounged  around  indolently,  laughing,  chatting,  and  tell- 


224  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

ing  stories,  of  a  sudden  some  watchful  eye  would  espy 
the  dim  outline  of  a  flock  in  the  distance.  Instantly 
there  was  a  great  commotion  among  the  hunters.  "  They 
are  coming!  They  are  coming!*'  would  hurriedly  be  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  the  hunters  would  at  once  dis- 
perse, seeking  a  place  for  concealment  in  the  neighboring 
woods,  or  lie  prone  behind  the  sloping  hills.  What 
immense  flocks  passed  over  us  there! 

One  bright  afternoon,  I  was  early  on  the  grounds. 
The  flight  usually  began  about  5  o'clock,  but  this  day 
there  were  so  many  birds  moving,  that  it  seemed  as  if 
they  had  consulted,  and  thought  it  best  to  obtain  an 
early  start.  About  half -past  3,  a  few  scattering  flocks 
dotted  the  horizon,  and  swept  gracefully  over  the  timber. 
I  located  myself  so  the  sun  shone  on  my  back,  and  was 
under  their  line  of  flight.  At  first,  they  flew  in  flocks  of 
from  300  to  500.  Many  of  the  flocks  consisted  entirely  of 
males,  then  others  of  females.  One  could  not  imagine  a 
prettier  sight  than  a  drove  of  the  males,  rising  up  over 
our  heads  as  they  swept  on  graceful  wings  out  from  the 
valley  below.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  except  here  and 
there  tiny  crests  of  white  dotted  and  made  deeper  the 
blue  background,  while  the  setting  sun  cast  its  mellow 
rays  on  the  purple  heads,  the  blue  necks  and  backs,  the 
golden  orange,  the  cinnamon  and  copper  color  of  their 
breasts,  until  their  sparkling  feathers  cast  a  sheen,  and 
filled  the  air  with  brilliant  colorings.  The  main  body 
first  appeared  at  4  o'clock;  the  flock  was  fully  100 
yards  wide,  and  densely  massed  together.  Shot  after  shot 
was  fired  into  them,  the  only  effect  being  -a  momentary 
opening;  then  they  quickly  closed  together  again,  and 
advanced  as  before.  Each  moment  I  expected  to  see  the 
end  of  this  trailing  army  of  crimson  and  blue,  but  there 
was  apparently  no  end.  Time  and  again  the  deep  double 
report  of  some  heavily  loaded  gun  would  roar  through- 


THE   WILD   PIGEON.  225 

out  the  woods,  the  smoke  waft  over  the  tree-tops,  dead 
or  wounded  birds  drop  to  the  earth,  or  with  set  wings 
sail  gently  lowering  through  the  scraggy  trees.  Five 
o'clock,  then  6  passed  by,  still  no  end  to  the  flight — it 
increased  if  anything;  the  pure  air  was  contaminated  by 
the  ever-present  smoke,  and  the  odor  coming  from  the 
flying  birds,  while  the  guns  kept  up  an  incessant  crack- 
ing. I  had  loaded  and  fired  until  my  ammunition  was 
expended;  friendship  ceased  at  this  time,  and  my  com- 
panions had  "just  a  few  loads  left,"  and  I  could  not  bor- 
row any  from  them;  so,  gathering  my  birds  and  tying 
them  in  a  bunch,  I  stood  my  gun  against  a  tree,  and 
silently  gazed  in  astonishment  and  admiration  at  the 
wonderful  sight  before  and  around  me,  for  I  intended 
remaining  until  I  saw  the  last  of  this  caravan,  or  until 
night  shut  it  from  view.  The  day  drew  speedily  to  a 
close;  the  sun  sank  to  rest  in  a  bed  of  crimson  glory;  the 
sky,  brightened  by  the  reflection  of  the  sun,  gradually 
lost  its  coloring,  and  was.  of  a  leaden  hue.  Whip-poor-wills 
flew  screeching  through  the  darkened  sky,  night-owls 
hooted  and  flitted  through  the  woods,  yet  the  flight  never 
ceased;  the  mist  arose  in  the  valleys,  the  shades  of  night 
fast  fell  over  the  earth;  the  faint  boom  of  distant  guns 
was  heard  before  and  behind  us,  then,  nearer,  the  guns 
themselves  were  to  be  seen;  sheets  of  fire  shot  toward  the 
heavens,  and  belched  forth  here  and  there  along  the  hill- 
sides; streaks  and  streams  of  flame  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly shot  forth  from  hidden,  darksome  places.  It  was 
now  dark;  the  stars  glittered  in  the  sky,  and  twinkled 
merrily  at  us.  The  birds  could  no  longer  be  seen,  except 
in  a  faint  dark  streak  as  we  looked  over  us  and  toward 
the  western  sky,  but  the  whistling  of  their  wings,  as  they 
winnowed  their  way  along,  could  be  plainly  heard. 
Nothing  could  be  seen  now,  and,  as  I  wended  my  way 
homeward,  I  heard  frequent  reports,  and  ever  and  anon 

15 


226  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

saw  the  rocket-like  flame  pierce  the  air,  while  the  boom- 
ing report  followed  it.  How  many  pigeons  were  in  that 
flight,  no  man  could  tell;  it  was  the  most  astonishing 
sight,  of  the  kind,  I  ever  saw;  there  were  not  only  thou- 
sands, but  hundreds  of  thousands,  in  the  flight  that  after- 
noon. I  candidly  believe  there  were  more  pigeons  in 
that  drove  than  there  are  game  birds  in  the  United  States 
to-day.  Our  early  ornithologists,  Audubon,  Wilson,  and 
others,  tell  what  may  seem  wonderful  tales  of  the  abun- 
dance of  pigeons,  but  there  can  be  no  question  of  the  birds 
having  been  as  plenty  as  they  say.  The  flight  of  the 
pigeons,  when  flying  singly  or  traveling,  is  very  rapid,  its 
speed  being  estimated  at  100  miles  an  hour;  this  speed 
is  attained  when  darting  through  the  woods  or  when 
in  high  flight.  When  going  to  and  returning  from 
their  feeding-grounds,  they  follow  the  hills  and  ravines, 
searching  for  food,  and  do  not  fly  at  such  great  speed. 
Their  food  consists  of  corn,  oats,  wheat,  berries,  and  rice, 
but  more  especially  the  acorns  and  beech-nuts — indeed, 
nuts  of  all  kinds  that  they  can  swallow.  These  nuts  are 
sought  for  on  the  ground,  and  are  called  under  the  gen- 
eral head  of  mast.  Where  mast  can  be  found,  there  the 
birds  congregate  in  immense  flocks,  devouring,  in  their 
voracity,  and  by  reason  of  their  numbers,  all  the  food 
they  can  get  at.  Providence  did  not  intend  these  birds 
should  die  of  starvation,  and  provided  them  with  the 
means  of  sustenance  in  their  strong  wings,  and  conse- 
quent powers  of  flight  and  endurance.  They  have  fre- 
quently been  found  in  the  Eastern  States,  their  crops 
filled  with  rice,  which  they  only  could  have  obtained  in 
Southern  fields.  Distance  has  no  effect  on  them  when 
they  are  searching  for  food,  and  they  will  fly  sixty  or  100 
miles  to  feed,  then  return  to  their  roosts.  They  loved 
the  forests;  these  shaded  spots  were  their  homes,  for,  as 
the  poet  says: 


THE   WILD    PIGEON.  227 

"The  blue  wild  pigeons  seek  the  deepest  woods, 
The  loveliest  forests  of  far  Michigan, 
Of  the  Minnesota  and  Kentucky  realms, 
Indiana  woodlands  and  Ohio  wastes; 
And  farther  south,  in  Mississippi  groves, 
They  swarming  congregate  in  early  spring, 
And  late  in  year  their  roosting-places  seek  " 

Yes,  they  sought  these  several  States,  they  wended 
their  unceasing  flight  into  the  Territories;  but,  wherever 
they  went,  they  were  followed,  not  only  by  the  hawks,  the 
eagles,  the  vultures  of  the  air,  the  wolves,  foxes,  vermin, 
and  beasts  of  the  fields,  but  by  man,  heartless,  unpitying 
man,  more  unfeeling  than  their  wild  and  inhuman  ene- 
mies, who  murdered  them  in  their  babyhood  or  pinched 
them  to  cruel  death  for  a  few  paltry  cents  per  dozen.  .It's 
a  sad  review  of  human  character,  to  think  that  this  has 
been  done,  and  done  in  States  where  the  violators  were 
within  easy  reach  of  an  outraged  law.  When  the  birds 
arrive  at  their  feeding-grounds,  they  flutter  along 
through  the  trees  close  to  the  ground,  picking  up  mast, 
and  hopping  in  short  flight  one  over  another,  pell-mell, 
gulping  down  everything  edible  within  their  reach. 
When  seen  at  a  distance,  at  this  time,  they  represent  roll- 
ing billows  of  blue  and  white  in  the  gray  woods.  When 
a  breeding-place  is  chosen,  then  is  a  time  of  great  excite- 
ment, and  the  destruction  begins,  as  they  appear  with 
regularity,  and  the  pigeon- netters  and  all  interested  par- 
ties are  constantly  on  the  watch  for  them.  One  of  the 
most  common  and  successful  methods  of  bagging  them 
was  shooting  from  stands.  These  stands  were  made  by 
cutting  two  poles  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  long,  then  nailing 
them  on  uprights  nine  or  ten  feet  high.  The  manner  of 
building  these  stands  and  the  place  of  putting  them  was 
as  follows:  The  pigeon-shooter  selected  a  stand  directly 
in  the  line  of  flight,  and  near  a  piece  of  timber.  It  was 
necessary  that  the  place  selected  should  be  open,  so  the 


228  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

pigeons  could  alight  o'n  the  ground,  for  if  trees,  bushes, 
or  twigs  were  near,  the  birds  would  light  on  them.  The 
shooter,  therefore,  picked  out  an  open  spot  near  the 
woods,  from  100  to  200  yards,  built  him  a  small  house  of 
boughs,  just  large  enough  to  hide  him  nicely,  then 
paced  off  about  thirty  long  steps  and  placed  his  first  poles; 
these  were  nearest  him,  and  a  foot  lower  than  those  the 
farthest  from  him,  the  idea  being  that  from  the  bough 
house  the  shot  might  follow  an  upward  flight;  the  charge 
also  had  a  chance  to  scatter,  for  the  parallel  poles  were 
gradually  separated,  being  perhaps  a  foot  apart  nearest 
the  shooter,  then  from  three  to  four  feet  at  the  other  end; 
the  result  was,  that  the  whole  charge  of  shot  was  fired 
into  the  fluttering  birds  with  great  effect.  A  ten-gauge 
gun  was  usually  used,  loaded  with  an  ounce  and  three- 
quarters  of  shot.  As  many  as  three  dozen  birds  were 
killed,  at  times,  at  a  single  discharge  of  one  barrel,  one 
party  telling  me  that  he  once  killed  seventy-one  birds  in 
two  shots.  After  the  place  had  been  selected  for  a  stand, 
around  this  spot  grain  was  scattered  to  entice  the  birds; 
but  the  most  effective  way  was  to  coax  them  down  with 
stool-pigeons.  These  stool-pigeons  were  known  as  flyers 
or  hoverers.  When  a  flock  was  sighted  coming  toward 
the  stand,  the  shooter  selected  one  of  the  flyers,  and  tossed 
him  into  the  air,  his  feet  tied  to  a  long  string;  the  bird 
flew  until  the  end  of  the  string  was  reached,  then,  feeling 
it  could  go  no  farther,  gradually  lowered,  settling  softly 
onto  the  ground.  At  this  time,  from  the  bough  house, 
there  was  called,  rapidly,  "keek,"  "keek,"  "keek," 
this  cry  being  the  kind  the  bird  made  when  feeding  or 
closely  searching  for  food;  then  another  flyer  would  be 
thrown  up,  then  another.  By  this  time,  the  attention  of 
the  incoming  flocks  would  be  attracted.  To  interest 
them  still  more,  the  strings  attached  to  the  hoverers 
would  be  pulled,  their  pedestals  jerked  from  beneath 


THE   WILD   PIGEON.  229 

them,  and  weights  dragged  them  slowly  to  the  ground; 
their  legs  restrained  and  their  wings  free,  naturally  they 
used  their  wings  constantly;  this  sight,  to  the  birds  com- 
ing in,  had  the  appearance  of  birds  fast  alighting  to  feed. 
The  flocks,  after  making  two  or  three  wide  circles,  would 
settle  on  the  poles,  and  then  the  hunter  quickly  fired  at 
them;  experience  had  demonstrated  that  it  would  not  do 
to  wait  too  long  before  firing,  but1  the  shots  must  be 
made  just  after  the  first  birds  had  settled  on  the  poles,  and 
while  their  companions  were  hovering  over  them.  At 
times,  they  lit  on  one  another  in  such  dense  quantities 
that  the  poles  were  broken.  In  the  Eastern  States,  the 
birds  were  fond  of  alighting  in  the  salt  licks  or  beds,  and  all 
along  their  line  of  flight  these  stands  were  built,  remain- 
ing year  after  year;  no  one  thought  of  molesting  them, 
and  a  hunter  always  held  sacred  the  stand  of  another, 
and  would  never  use  one  without  the  consent  of  the 
owner.  Many  of  these  stands  were  of  local  reputation,  and 
had  descended  from  sire  to  son,  grandchildren  and  great- 
grandchildren. It  is  a  grand  sight  to  see  a  flock  of  sev- 
eral thousand  swoop  down,  decoyed  into  the  fowler's 
stand.  They  will  come  along,  sweeping  and  trailing  over 
the  hills  and  down  the  valleys,  or  in  straight  and  steady 
flight  high  in  air.  Flyers  will  be  thrown  up,  hoverers 
flutter  to  the  ground,  when  suddenly  the  leaders  of  the 
flock  espy  the  invitation  to  the  feast,  and  with  bowed 
and  set  wings  begin  their  descent,  cutting  the  keen  air 
with  vibratory  wings;  they  can  not  and  do  not  attempt 
to  come  down  perpendicularly,  but  each  bird  tries  to 
follow  the  path  of  its  predecessor,  and  the  long  trail  of 
purple,  blue,  and  white  descends  like  an  avalanche,  in 
appearance  a  huge  inverted  cone  or  spiral  stream  of  life. 
As  they  wind  around  in  a  circle  before  alighting,  and  then 
cover  the  ground  in  a  fluttering  mass,  they  hover  and  flit 
over  the  earth,  covering  it  at  times  to  the  depth  of  sev- 


230  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

eral  feet  with  their  struggling  bodies.  One  of  the  largest 
pigeon-roosts  ever  seen  in  the  United  States,  was  during 
the  year  1878,  at  Petoskey,  Mich.  Professor  Roney 
went  to  this  roost  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  the  birds, 
so  far  as  he  could,  from  the  slaughter  carried  on  by  the 
attendants  there.  The  reader  can  form  an  accurate  idea 
of  the  immensity  of  one  of  these  roosts  from  the  following 
graphic  description  of  Professor  Roney: 

4 '  On  reaching  Petoskey,  we  found  the  condition  of 
affairs  had  not  been  magnified;  indeed,  it  exceeded  our 
gravest  fears.  Here,  a  few  miles  north,  was  a  pigeon- 
nesting  of  irregular  dimensions,  estimated,  by  those  best 
qualified  to  judge,  to  be  forty  miles  in  length  by  three 
to  ten  miles  in  width,  probably  the  largest  nesting  that 
has  ever  existed  in  the  United  States,  covering  some- 
thing like  100,000  acres  of  land,  and  including  not  less 
than  150,000  acres  within  its  limits.  At  the  hotel,  we  met 
one  we  were  glad  to  see,  in  the  person  of  '  Uncle  Len' 
Jewell,  of  Bay  City,  an  old  woodsman  and  'land- 
looker.'  Len  had  for  several  weeks  been  looking  land 
in  the  upper  peninsula,  and  was  on  his  return  home.  At 
our  solicitation,  he  agreed  to  remain  for  two  or  three 
days,  and  cooperate  with  us.  In  the  village,  nothing  else 
seemed  to  be  thought  of  but  pigeons.  It  was  the  one 
absorbing  topic  everywhere.  The  'pigeoners'  hurried 
hither  and  thither,  comparing  market  reports,  and  solic- 
iting the  latest  quotations  on  'squabs.'  A  score  of 
hands  in  the  packing-houses  were  kept  busy  from  day- 
light until  dark.  Wagon-load  after  wagon -load  of  dead 
and  live  birds  hauled  up  to  the  station,  discharged  their 
freight,  and  returned  to  the  nesting  for  more.  The 
freight-house  was  filled  with  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
pigeon-hunter's  vocation,  while  every  train  brought 
acquisitions  to  their  numbers,  and  scores  of  nets,  stool- 
pigeons,  etc.  The  pigeoners  were  everywhere.  They 


THE  WILD   PIGEON.  231 

swarmed  in  the  hotels,  post  office,  and  about  the  streets. 
They  were  there,  as  careful  inquiry  and  the  hotel  regis- 
ters showed,  from  Xew  York,  Wisconsin,  Pennsylvania, 
Michigan,  Maryland,  Iowa,  Virginia,  Ohio,  Texas,  Illi- 
nois, Maine,  Minnesota,  and  Missouri. 

"Hiring  a  team,  wre  started  on  a  tour  of  investigation 
through  the  nesting.  Long  before  reaching  it,  our  course 
was  directed  by  the  birds  over  our  heads,  flying  back 
and  forth  to  their  feeding-grounds.  After  riding  about 
fifteen  miles,  we  discovered  a  wagon-track  leading  into 
the  woods,  in  the  direction  of  the  bird-sounds  which  came 
to  our  ears.  Three  of  the  party  left  the  wagon  and  fol- 
lowed it;  the  twittering  grew  louder  and  louder,  the 
birds  more  numerous,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  we  were  in 
the  midst  of  that  marvel  of  the  forest,  and  Nature's  won- 
derland— the  pigeon-nesting.  We  stood  and  gazed  in 
bewilderment  upon  the  scene  around  and  above  us.  Was 
it  indeed  a  fairy -land  we  stood  upon,  or  did  our  eyes 
deceive  us?  On  every  hand  the  eye  would  meet  these 
graceful  creatures  of  the  forest,  which,  in  their  delicate 
robes  of  blue,  purple,  and  brown,  darted  hither  and 
thither  with  the  quickness  of  thought  Every  bough  was 
bending  under  their  weight,  so  tame  one  could  almost 
touch  them,  while  in  every  direction,  crossing  and 
recrossing,  the  flying  birds  drewr  a  net-work  before  the 
dizzy  eyes  of  the  beholder,  until  he  fain  would  close  his 
eyes  to  shut  out  the  bewildering  scene.  This  portion  of 
the  nesting  was  the  first  formed,  and  the  young  birds 
were  just  ready  to  leave  the  nests.  Scarcely  a  tree  could 
be  seen  but  contained  from  five  to  fifty  nests,  according 
to  its  size  and  branches.  Directed  by  the  noise  of  chop- 
ping and  falling  trees,  we  followed  on,  and  soon  came 
upon  the  scene  of  action.  Here  was  a  large  force  of 
Indians  and  boys  at  work,  slashing  down  the  timber,  and 
seizing  the  young  birds  as  they  fluttered  from  the  nests. 


232  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

As  soon  as  caught,  the  heads  were  jerked  off  from  the 
tender  bodies  with  the  hand,  and  the  dead  birds  tossed 
into  heaps.  Others  knocked  the  young  fledgelings  out  of 
the  nests  with  long  poles,  their  weuk  and  untried  wings 
failing  to  carry  them  beyond  the  clutches  of  the  assist- 
ant, who,  with  hands  reeking  with  blood  and  feathers, 
tears  the  head  off  the  living  bird,  and  throws  its  quiver- 
ing body  upon  the  heap.  Thousands  of  young  birds  lay 
among  the  ferns  and  leaves,  dead,  having  been  knocked 
out  of  the  nests  by  the  promiscuous  tree-slashing,  and 
dying  for  want  of  nourishment  and  care,  which  the  par- 
ent birds,  trapped  off  by  the  netter,  could  not  give.  The 
squab-killers  stated  that  'about  one-half  of  the  young 
birds  in  the  nests  they  found  dead,'  owing  to  the  latter 
reason.  Every  available  Indian,  man,  and  boy  in  the 
neighborhood  was  in  the  employ  of  buyers  and  specu- 
lators killing  squabs,  for  which  they  received  a  cent 
apiece. 

"The  news  of  the  formation  of  the  nesting  was  not  long 
in  reaching  the  various  Indian  settlements  near  Petos- 
key,  and  the  aboriginals  came  in  tens  and  fifties,  and  in 
hordes.  Some  were  armed  with  guns,  but  the  majority 
were  provided  with  powerful  bows,  and  arrows  with 
round,  flat  heads  two  or  three  inches  in  diameter.  With 
these  they  shot  under  or  into  the  nests,  knocking  out 
the  squabs  to  the  ground,  and  raked  the  old  birds  which 
loaded  the  branches.  For  miles,  the  roads  leading  to  the 
nesting  were  swarming  with  Indians,  big  and  little,  old 
and  young,  squaws,  pappooses,  bucks,  and  young  braves, 
on  ponies,  in  carts,  and  on  foot.  Each  family  brought 
its  kit  of  cooking-utensils,  axes,  a  stock  of  provisions, 
tubs,  barrels,  and  firkins  to  pack  the  birds  in,  and  came 
intending  to  carry  on  the  business  until  the  nesting 
broke  up.  In  some  sections,  the  woods  were  literally  full 
of  them.  With  the  aid  of  Sheriff  Ingalls,  who  spoke 


THE   WILD   PIGEON.  233 

their  language  like  a  native,  we  one  day  drove  over  400 
Indians  out  of  the  nesting,  and  their  retreat  back  to  their 
farms  would  have  rivaled  Bull  Run.  Five  hundred  more 
were  met  on  the  road  to  the  nesting,  and  turned  back. 
The  number  of  pigeons  these  two  hordes  would  have 
destroyed  would  have  been  incalculable.  Noticing  a 
handsome  bow  in  the  hands  of  a  young  Indian,  who 
proved  to  be  a  son  of  the  old  chief  Petoskey,  a  piece  of 
silver  caused  its  transfer  to  us,  with  the  remark,  '  Keene, 
kensau  mene  sic '  (Now  you  can  go  and  shoot  pigeons), 
which  dusky  joke  seemed  to  be  appreciated  by  the  rest 
of  the  young  chief's  companions. 

"  There  are  in  the  United  States  about  5,000  men  who 
pursue  pigeons  year  after  year  as  a  business.  Pigeon- 
hunters  with  whom  we  conversed,  incognito,  stated  that 
of  this  number  there  were  between  400  and  500  at  the 
Petoskey  nesting,  plying  their  vocation  with  as  many 
nets,  and  more  arriving  upon  every  train  from  all  parts 
of  the  United  States.  When  it  is  remembered  that  the 
village  was  alive  with  pigeoners,  that  nearly  every  house 
in  the  vast  area  of  territory  covered  by  the  nesting  shel- 
tered one  to  six  pigeon-men,  and  that  many  camped  out 
in  the  woods,  the  figures  will  not  seem  improbable. 
Every  homesteader  in  the  country,  who  owned  or  could 
hire  an  ox-team  or  pair  of  horses,  was  engaged  in  haul- 
ing birds  to  Petoskey  for  shipment,  for  which  they 
received  $4  per  wagon-load.  To  'keep  peace  in  the 
family,'  and  avoid  complaint,  the  pigeon-men  fitted  up 
many  of  the  settlers  with  nets,  and  instructed  them  in 
the  art  of  trapping.  Added  to  these  were  the  buyers, 
shippers,  packers,  Indians,  and  boys,  making  not  less 
than  2,000  persons  (some  placed  it  at  2,500)  engaged  in 
the  traffic  at  this  one  nesting.  Fully  fifty  teams  were 
engaged  in  hauling  birds  to  the  railroad  station.  The 
road  was  carpeted  with  feathers,  and  the  wings  and  feath- 


234  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

ers  from  the  packing-houses  were  used  by  the  wagon- 
load  to  fill  up  the  mud-holes  in  the  road  for  miles  out  of 
town.  For  four  men  to  attempt  to  effect  a*  work  having 
for  opponents  the  entire  country,  residents  and  non-resi- 
dents included,  was  no  slight  task. 

"The  majority  of  the  pigeoners  were  a  reckless,  hard 
set  of  men,  but  their  repeated  threats  that  they  would 
'  buck-shot  us'  if  we  interfered  with  them  in  the  woods, 
failed  to  inspire  the  awe  that  was  intended.  It  was  four 
against  2,000.  What  was  accomplished  against  such 
fearful  odds  may  be  seen  by  the  following: 

"The  regular  shipments  by  rail  before  the  party  com- 
menced operations  were  sixty  barrels  per  day.  On  the 
16th  of  April,  just  after  our  arrival,  they  fell  to  thirty-five 
barrels,  and  on  the  17th  down  to  twenty  barrels  per  day, 
while  on  the  22d  the  shipments  were  only  eight  barrels 
of  pigeons.  On  the  Sunday  previous,  there  were  shipped 
by  steamer,  to  Chicago,  128  barrels  of  dead  birds  and  108 
crates  of  live  birds.  On  the  next  Sabbath  following  our 
arrival,  the  shipments  were  only  forty-three  barrels  and 
fifty-two  crates.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  some  little 
good  was  accomplished,  but  that  little  was  included  in  a 
very  few  days  of  the  season,  for  the  treasury  of  the  home 
clubs  would  not  admit  of  keeping  their  representatives 
longer  at  the  nesting;  the  State  clubs,  save  one,  did  not 
respond  to  the  call  for  assistance,  and  the  men  were 
recalled,  after  which  the  Indians  went  back  into  the  nest- 
ing, and  the  wanton  crusade  was  renewed,  by  pigeoners 
and  all  hands,  with  an  energy  which  indicated  a  determi- 
nation to  make  up  lost  time. 

"  The  first  shipment  of  birds  from  Petoskey  was  upon 
March  22d,  and  the  last  upon  August  12th,  making  over 
twenty  weeks,  or  five  months,  that  the  bird  war  was  car- 
ried on.  For  many  weeks  the  railroad  shipments  aver- 
aged fifty  barrels  of  dead  birds  per  day — thirty  to  forty 


THE    WILD    PIGEON.  235 

dozen  old  birds  and  about  fifty  dozen  squabs  being  packed 
in  a  barrel/  Allowing  500  birds  to  a  barrel,  and  averag- 
ing the  entire  shipments  for  the  season  at  twenty-five 
barrels  per  day,  \ve  find  the  rail  shipments  to  have  been 
12,500  dead  birds  daily,  or  1,500,000  for  the  summer.  Of 
live  birds,  there  were  shipped  1,116  crates,  six  dozen  per 
crate,  or  80,352  birds.  These  were  the  rail  shipments 
only,  and  not  including  the  cargoes  by  steamers  from 
Petoskey,  Cheboygan,  Cross  Village,  and  other  lake  ports, 
which  were  as  many  more.  Added  to  this  were  the  daily 
express  shipments  in  bags  and  boxes,  the  wagon-loads 
hauled  away  by  the  shot-gun  brigade,  the  thousands  of 
dead  and  wounded  ones  not  secured,  and  the  myriads  of 
squabs  dead  in  the  nest  by  the  trapping  off  of  the  parent 
birds  soon  after  hatching  (for  a  young  pigeon  will  surely 
die  if  deprived  of  its  parents  during  the  first  week  of  its 
life),  and  we  have,  at  the  lowest  possible  estimate,  a  grand 
total  of  1,000,000,000  pigeons  sacrificed  to  Mammon  dur- 
ing the  nesting  of  1878." 

I  trust  the  knowledge  obtained  by  the  reader  will  be 
sufficient  recompense  to  insure  me  a  frank  forgiveness 
for  engrafting  into  this  chapter  so  much  of  the  language 
and  experience  of  another;  but  many  of  our  sportsmen, 
especially  the  younger  members  of  the  fraternity,  wonder 
what  has  become  of  the  birds  that,  a  decade  since,  dark- 
ened the  sky  with  their  traveling  hordes.  The  report  of 
Professor.Roney  tells  the  tale,  for  there  are  not  sufficient 
of  any  living  animals  to  have  taken  from  them  the 
numbers  that  were  taken  from  that  pigeon-roost,  and  not 
speedily  become  extinct.  Every  day  in  the  spring-time, 
the  time  when  we  used  to  see  so  many  pigeons  with  us, 
Hying  so  gracefully  over  the  hill-tops,  or  high  in  air 
traveling  northward,  our  thoughts  revert  to  those  good 
old  times  when  they  were  so  plenty  with  us;  and  we  can 
not  but  think  tenderly  of  the  dead,  for  they  are  dead  to 


236  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

life,  j7et  ever  fresh  in  our  memories,  and  the  sky  would 
seem  gladder,  the  trees  and  grass  a  richer  green,  if  they 
were  only  brought  in  contrast  with  the  variegated  colors 
of  the  pigeons  resplendent  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 
We  miss  them  more  than  any  other  birds,  for  with  us 
we  always  looked  forward  in  pleasant  anticipation  of 
their  coming,  for  they  were  the  companions  and  the  mild 
associates  of  budding  .spring;  and  when  we  saw  them 
skimming  along  just  over  the  highest  trees,  looking  for 
some  expected  place  for  alighting,  seeking  a  spot  to  build 
their  homes,  we  knew  that, 

"  In  soft  spring-time  they  seek  some  lone  retreat, 
Where  endless  forests  stretch  their  bowery  realm, 
And  here  they  build  their  nests  and  rear  their  brood; 
Here  tender  grass  and  underwood  die  out, 
And  earth  is  strewn  with  wither'd  branch  of  trees, 
Broken  by  weight  of  birds  that  roost  above." 

And  then,  when  summer  months  have  passed,  when  the 
leaves  are  tremulously  falling  to  the  earth,  and  the 
changing  beauties  of  the  maples  awaken  our  admiration, 
"when  ripe  October  kindles  all  the  woods,  flushing  the 
oak  and  beech  trees  with  a  blaze,"  as  if  the  pigeons 
knew  how  welcome  they  were,  they  brightened  the 
heavens  again  in  their  homeward  flights,  wending  their 
way  toward  their  southern  homes,  where,  in  mid- winter, 
free  from  frost  and  snow  and  the  piercing  wintry  winds 
of  the  North,  they  sought  the  ambrosial  forests,  and 
beneath  the  sunny  skies,  sitting  basking  in  the  warm  sun's 
rays,  they  dozed  the  time  away,  listening  to  the  tinkling 
of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  or  the  songs  of  the  bright-plum- 
aged  birds  that  fluttered  near,  and  favored  them  with 
sweetest  melody  in  their  constant  serenadings. 


SNIPE,  AND  SNIPE-SHOOTING. 


BY  THOMAS  C.  ABBOTT  ("  RECAPPEK"). 


ROTHER  sportsman,  are  you  a  snipe-shooter? 
If  not,  perhaps  before  trying  the  sport  it  were 
well  to  know  a  little  of  the  natural  his- 
tory of  the  bird.  He  is  a  great  traveler. 
Cones'  "Birds  of  the  Northwest" 
^  says:  "Throughout  the  greater 
part  of  the  United  States  the 
snipe  is  found  only  during  the  mi- 
~  ^  grations,  and  in  winter.  It  breeds, 
however,  in  Northern  New  England,  and  may 
do  so  along  other  portions  of  our  northern  border, 
though  I  have  not  so  determined.  It  occurs  in  South 
America,  Central  America,  Mexico,  and  the  West 
Indies."  Other  authorities  tell  us  that  they  breed 
from  Nova  Scotia  to  Virginia;  that  they  breed  at  times 
in  New  Jersey,  I  feel  pretty  sure.  Formerly  it  was  the 
custom  to  shoot  them  during  their  spring  migration,  but 
I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say  that  this  custom  is  now  for- 
bidden by  law  in  most  of  the  States.  I  can  not  refrain 
from  saying  here  that  the  practice  of  spring  shooting  of 
any  winged  game  was  a  most  barbarous  one,  born  of 
ignorance,  and  continued  through  thoughtlessness.  That 
it  is  so  fast  being  put  down,  is  due  to  the  fearless,  perse- 
vering energy  of  one  man,  and  that  man  is  Dr.  N.  Rowe, 
editor  of  the  American  Field. 

In  the  hunting  for  and  shooting  of  other  winged  game, 
if    the  sportsman  is  a  good  shot,  and  has  dogs  of  fair 

(237) 


238  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

average  abilities,  lie  can  follow  certain  hard  and  fast 
rules  and  meet  with  success,  supposing  him  to  be  in  a 
country  fairly  well  stocked  with  game;  but  in  snipe- 
shooting,  beyond  the  old  rule  of  always  working  down- 
wind, this  will  not  apply.  And  why?  Simply  because, 
of  all  our  game  birds,  none  are  so  erratic  in  their  habits 
as  the  snipe.  Every  variation  in  temperature,  every  shift 
of  the  wind,  is  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  change  in  their 
feeding  or  lying  grounds,  and  they  will  often  shift  their 
quarters  even  when  these  apparent  causes  are  absent. 
One  hour  they  may  be  very  wild,  the  next,  extremely 
tame;  hence  the  novice,  who,  perhaps,  may  have  been 
having  good  shooting,  and  is  congratulating  himself  on 
the  accommodating  humor  of  the  birds,  may  the  same 
day,  within  a  short  time,  be  anathematizing  them  for 
their  wildness  or  their  seemingly  causeless  veering  of 
quarters. 

One  of  the  golden  rules  in  all  game-shooting  may  be 
summed  up  in  one  word,  and  that  word  is,  silence. 

There  may  be  other  game  as  acute  of  hearing  as  the 
snipe,  but  if  so,  I  do  not  know  it;  hence  it  follows,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  that  the  more  quietly  you  and  your 
dogs  work  the  greater  will  be  the  chance  of  success. 

The  next  thing  to  be  considered  is  the  gun  you  will 
use.  To  give  useful  advice  on  this  point,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  the  style  of  shooting  of  the  one  who  asks  for 
information.  If  you  are  a  very  quick  shot,  shooting 
the  moment  the  bird  rises,  you  will  do  best  with  the  cyl- 
inder-bore. If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  are  deliberate  in 
your  movements,  waiting  for  the  bird  to  get  done  twist- 
ing and  dodging  in  his  efforts  to  outflank  you,  then  you 
need  the  choke-bore.  As  the  walking  in  snipe-shooting 
is  apt  to  be  bad,  every  ounce  in  weight  in  the  gun  tells  in 
a  long  tramp,  and  a  gun  of  seven  pounds  weight,  or  less, 
is  the  thing.  As  to  the  gauge,  each  one  has  his  fancy, 


SNIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SHOOTING. 


239 


but  the  twelve-gauge  is,  to  my  mind,  the  best.  I  have 
tried  shot  of  all  sizes,  from  No.  5  to  No.  10,  and,  taking 
Tatham's  shot  as  the  standard,  I  prefer  No.  9.  For  a 
seven-pound,  twelve-gauge  gun,  three  drams  of  good 


WILSON'S  SNIPE. -JACKSNlPE. 


powder  and  from  one  ounce  to  one  ounce  and  an  eighth 
of  shot  will  be  found  to  be  very  effective. 

In  the  important  matter  of  dogs,  I  agree  fully  with 
Frank  Forester,  that ' '  the  best  dogs  for  snipe  are  the  brav- 
est, fastest,  and  best  trained  that  can  be  got  for  money." 


240  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

It  is  true  that,  on  the  rice  plantations  of  the  South,  or  on 
the  wet  prairies  of  the  West,  where  snipe  are  often  found 
in  hundreds,  a  retrieving  spaniel  may  seem  to  be  all  that 
is  needed,  the  shooter  doing  the  finding  and  flushing  of 
the  birds;  but,  as  Forester  says,  "where  would  be  the 
sport  of  such  slow  gunning?"  To  the  true  sportsman — 
the  man  who  shoots  for  the  sake  of  the  healthful  exer- 
cise, and  not  for  the  market — seeing  the  good  work  done 
by  his  dogs  is  by  far  the  most  enticing  part  of  any  shoot- 
ing. As  regards  snipe-dogs,  it  may  be  said  of  them,  as 
of  the  snipe-shooter,  neither  can  ever  become  absolutely 
perfect  at  the  work.  Don't  start,  reader;  I  will  explain. 
You  may  be  a  crack  shot,  have  a  dog,  or  a  brace  of  dogs, 
so  perfect  on  woodcock,  grouse,  and  quail,  and  be  your- 
self so  thoroughly  well  up  in  all  the  habits  of  these 
game  birds,  that  you  never  have  any  difficulty  in  outwit- 
ing  them,  but  in  snipe- shooting  you  have  a  different 
bird  altogether.  After  thirty  years  of  constant  experi- 
ence with  them,  the  writer  might  reasonably  be  supposed 
to  know  all  their  ways,  yet  such  is  not  the  case.  Every  time 
I  go  after  them  I  learn  something  new,  because  of  their 
changeableness  of  mood.  In  fact,  about  the  only  thing 
certain  you  can  say  of  them  is  that  they  are  very  uncertain. 
Dr.  Lewis,  in  his  American  Sportsman,  says  that  he 
has  "never  seen  a  good  snipe-dog."  Well,  he  was  cer- 
tainly unfortunate  in  his  experience.  I  have  seen  them, 
and  owned  them.  He  also  insists  that  the  best  days  to 
shoot  snipe  are  very  windy  ones,  and  that  he  can  get 
nearer  to  them,  and  get  more  and  better  shots,  on  such 
days,  and  find  and  flush  the  birds  himself,  than  can  anyone 
on  still  days.  He  is  wholly  at  variance  with  our  best 
authorities  on  this  point.  Curiously  enough,  it  so  hap- 
pens that  Dr.  Lewis,  Forester,  and  myself  have  done 
the  most  of  our  snipe-shooting  in  the  same  State — New 
Jersey — and  on  grounds  not  very  wide  apart. 


SNIPE,  AND  SNIPE-SHOOTING.  241 

f 

As  an  illustration  of  the  advantage  held  by  one 
working  with  goods  dogs  over  one  without  a  dog, 
let  us  suppose  that  we  have  two  meadows,  of  twenty 
acres  each  in  extent,  and  that  on  each  of  these  meadows 
there  are  distributed  forty  snipe.  Let  two  men,  who  are 
equally  good  shots,  each  beat  over  one  of  these  meadows. 
To  make  the  test  complete,  let  half  a  gale  of  wind  be 
blowing  over  one  meadow,  and  only  a  gentle  breeze  over 
the  other.  Suppose  one  man  to  be  aided  by  a  brace  of 
good  snipe-dogs,  and  the  other,  who  works  over  the 
windy  meadow,  to  have  no  dog,  but  work  on  Dr.  Lewis' 
plan,  and  find  the  birds  himself.  Let  both  begin  at  the 
same  time;  and  now  mark  the  inevitable  result.  The 
man  with  the  dogs  walks  quietly  down-wind,  keeping 
near  the  center  of  his  ground,  and  the  dogs  working  to 
the  right  and  left  of  him.  The  dogs  will  find  every  bird, 
and  there  being  but  little  wind,  they  will  not  fly  until 
forced  to  do  so.  The  shooter  need  not  turn  aside,  except 
when  his  dogs  point,  and  so  saves  himself  much  walking; 
and  in  an  hour,  at  the  most,  he  has  got,  or  driven  off,  all 
the  birds  on  that  piece  of  ground. 

Now  turn  to  the  other  shooter;  doing  all  of  the  work 
himself,  he  must  tramp  over  the  whole  ground  to  find  his 
birds.  Be  as  quiet  as  he  may,  he  will  unavoidably  make 
some  noise,  and  the  strong  wind  behind  him  carries  the 
sound  far  in  advance  of  him  to  warn  the  birds.  It  being 
a  strong  wind,  the  birds  know  they  can  rise  easily  and 
fly  fast,  and  the  result  is  that  they  do  so,  oftentimes  out 
of  shot.  Not  having  dogs  to  locate  them,  the  shooter 
does  not  know  when,  where,  or  how  they  may  flush,  and 
he  has  to  take  shots  at  all  sorts  of  angles,  and  sees  a  good 
many  birds  go  off.  Moreover,  to  find  them  all,  he  must 
do  from  four  to  six  times  the  tramping  done  by  the  other 
man,  and  this  takes  a  proportionately  greater  time.  It 
takes  no  prophet  to  tell  which  of  those  two  men  will  be 

16 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

most  fagged  out  at  night,  or  which  of  them  will  have  the* 
most  birds  to  show.  No,  no,  reader,  don't  try  the  snipe 
in  windy  weather,  for  you  will  find  ' '  the  game  is  not 
worth  the  candle." 

Aside  from  the  knack  of  hitting  them,  snipe  are  not 
hard  to  kill.  One  or  two  pellets  of  shot  will  bring  them 
down,  and  it  is  seldom  that  they  fly  far  if  hit. 

After  advising  caution  in  approaching  a  hit  snipe, 
which  has  been  marked  down,  Forester  says  that  he  has 
"seen  a  wounded  one,  after  being  marked  down  to  a 
square  yard  of  ground,  get  away,  and  this  after  the 
ground  had  been  beaten  over  by  a  brace  of  capital  dogs, 
and  as  many  men."  Now  if  any  man  ever  knew  just 
what  constituted  a  brace  of  "  capital  dogs,"  he  did;  but 
I  can  not  imagine  how  a  "brace  of  capital  dogs  "  could  go 
up  to  within  a  yard  of  a  wounded  snipe  and  not  wind  it, 
when  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  dead  or  wounded  birds 
are  readily  located  by  dogs,  and  this,  too,  when  they  have 
failed  to  scent  unhurt  birds  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 
Possibly  I  may  have  been  more  than  usually  fortunate 
in  my  experience,  but  I  can  say  truly  that,  in  all  the 
years  I  have  shot,  I  have  lost  but  one  dead  or  wounded 
snipe.  It  is  true  I  was  attended  on  that  occasion  by 
dogs  which  were  excellent  at  retrieving,  an  accomplish- 
ment which  I  seem  to  have  an  inborn  knack  of  teaching; 
but  had  I  known  then,  as  1  now  know,  that  snipe  can 
swim  well  for  short  distances,  I  am  confident  that  I 
should  not  have  lost  even  that  one  bird.  I  will  give  the 
incident  here:  It  was  in  the  month  of  April,  before  I  had 
realized  the  wrong  of  shooting  snipe  in  spring.  I  was,  at 
the  time,  walking  along  the  edge  of  one  of  a  series  of 
high  knolls,  separated  by  water  on  three  sides.  Sud- 
denly, in  front  of  me,  and  not  over  thirty  yards  away,  two 
birds  arose.  One  turned  to  the  right,  and  it  was  instantly 
killed;  the  other,  bearing  away  to  my  left,  and  flying 


SNIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SIIOOTIXG.  243 

fast,  received  my  second  shot,  but  I  aimed  not  quite 
far  enough  in  advance  of  him,  and  failed  to  stop  him. 
He  was  hit,  however,  and  flew  but  about  100  yards, 
and  dropped  upon  the  far  edge  of  the  farthest  knoll  to 
my  left.  Keeping  my  eyes  on  the  spot,  I  went  there  at 
once,  after  one  of  my  setters  had  retrieved  the  dead  bird. 
On  reaching  the  place,  my  dogs  took  the  scent,  but  failed 
to  find  the  bird.  It  had  not  flushed,  or  I  should  have  seen 
it;  and  there  was  no  cover  for  it  to  have  hidden  in.  After 
long  searching  by  my  dogs  and  myself,  I  gave  it  up;  but 
I  am  now  satisfied  that  that  snipe  entered  the  water, 
there  about  twenty  yards  wide,  and  swam  over  to  a  wet 
thicket  on  the  farther  shore.  Had  I  sent  one  of  mv  dogs 

«/ 

across  the  water,  that  bird  would  have  been  bagged,  for 
if  he  had  flushed  again,  he  would  have  done  so  within 
easy  range. 

So  far,  all  writers,  while  they  admit  that  during  the 
spring  migration  snipe  resort  to  other  grounds  than  the 
open  meadows,  make  no  mention,  so  far  as  I  know,  of 
their  being  anywhere  except  on  the  open  meadows  during 
autumn;  and  some  claim  that  they  are  to  be  found  only 
on  the  open  ground.  This  latter  claim  I  have  found  to 
be  a  mistake.  During  the  autumn,  I  have  found  them 
along  neglected  meadow  ditches  overhung  by  large  willow 
trees,  and  again,  hidden  in  the  reeds  along  the  banks  of 
creeks.  Though  Forester  asserts  positively  that  at  this 
season  they  never  go  there,  I  have  shot  them  repeatedly 
in  wet  woodland  meadows,  and  on  high  meadows  over- 
grown with  tussocks  of  coarse  grass,  where  the  ground 
was  hard,  and  as  dry  as  the  inside  of  a  powder-canister. 

One  fact  worth  mentioning  is,  that  I  have  found 
them  in  such  spots  only  during  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  I  have  always  believed  that,  after  feeding  during  the 
morning  hours,  they  retire  to  such  places  to  dress  and 
preen  their  feathers,  and  perhaps  to  take  a  digestive 


244  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

snooze;  hence,  I  would  urge  it  upon  the  sportsman 
that,  if  he  knows  that  there  are  any  birds  on  the  ground, 
and  fails  to  find  them  in  their  usual  hiding-places  during 
the  noon  hours,  he  should  try  such  places  as  I  have 
named.  He  may  not  find  many  birds,  but  if  he  watches 
those  he  does  find,  and  which,  go  off  unshot  at,  they 
will  almost  invariably  go  to  where  the  main  body  of  the 
birds  are,  and  thus  guide  him  to  good  shooting. 

The  snipe  is  a  bird  of  strange  ways,  and  the  sooner 
you  recognize  that  fact,  the  sooner  will  you  become 
expert  in  finding  them.  As  they  do  not  give  out  a  strong 
scent,  do  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  find  fault  with  your  dog 
because  he  points,  and  you  fail  to  fiush  the  birds  fit  once 
on  going  up  to  him.  Wild  as  they  are  in  general,  they 
will,  at  times,  squat  till  almost  trodden  upon.  To  show 
how  cunning  they  are,  I  will  relate  the  trick  one  tried  to 
play  on  me.  I  was,  at  the  time,  working  a  red  and  white 
setter — the  grandest  and  most  trustworthy  snipe -dog  I 
have  ever  seen.  The  dog  had  worked  over  a  low,  wet 
place  without  finding  game,  and  had,  with  myself, 
reached  the  high,  dry  ground.  Suddenly  he  turned,  and 
pointed  where  the  ground  was  entirely  bare,  and  close  to 
where  a  fence  bad  been  standing.  On  walking  up  to  him, 
no  bird  flushed,  and  so  devoid  of  all  cover  was  the  ground, 
that  I  could  have  seen  a  sparrow  had  one  been  there.  I 
spoke  to  the  dog,  and  for  an  instant  he  looked  up  in  my 
face  and  wagged  his  tail,  and  then  straightened  out 
again.  I  began  to  think  that,  for  once,  dear  old  Monk 
was  wrong,  but  I  was  too  old  a  hand  to  show  him  I 
thought  so.  I  walked  out  in  front  of  him  for  some 
yards,  walked  around  on  the  meadow,  and  still  nothing 
flushed.  Coming  back  to  him,  I  walked  up  to  a  post- 
hole  about  a  foot  deep,  when  up,  with  a  "scaipe',  scaipe," 
rose  a  snipe.  I  was  so  completely  taken  with  surprise, 
that  the  wonder  is  I  did  not  make  a  clean  miss,  yet  I  cut 


SNIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SHOOTING.  246 

him  down  neatly.  I  turned  and  looked  at  Monk's  face, 
and  I  tell  you,  reader,  the  look  I  saw  there  was  to  me, 
at  once,  one  of  reproach  and  of  gratitude — reproach 
that  my  manner  had  shown  a  doubt  of  his  trustworthi- 
ness, gratitude  that  I  had  done  my  part  equally  as  well 
as  he  had  done  his.  Perhaps  it  is  needless  to  add  that 
I  never  doubted  him  again.  Now  that  snipe  knew  that 
he  was  in  very  unusual  quarters,  and,  not  seeing  or 
hearing  the  dog,  thought,  perhaps,  that  I  should  fail  to 
find  him,  and  so  kept  still  till  I  was  almost  in  the  act  of 
treading  upon  him. 

Possibly  the  reader  may  think  I  am  giving  birds 
credit  for  too  much  sense,  but  if  he  had  seen  as  much  of 
their  ways  as  I  have,  he  might  change  his  mind.  I  will 
relate  another  strange  occurrence.  One  pleasant  after- 
noon in  October,  1871,  I  concluded  to  see  if  I  could  find  a 
snipe.  Taking  the  dog  above  named,  and  his  brace-mate, 
a  dark  liver-and-white  setter  bitch,  I  started  over  the 
meadows  I  knew  so  well.  After  working  over  all  but 
one  of  them,  and  failing  to  find  any  sign  of  a  snip^,  I 
started  homeward  across  the  yet  unhunted  meadow. 
About  midway  in  it,  there  was  a  wet,  springy  place,  not 
over  ten  feet  square,  and  on  nearing  this  spot  both  dogs 
pointed.  When  I  walked  up  to  them,  up  rose  a  snipe, 
which  I  killed.  No  more  birds  were  found,  and  I 
returned  to  the  house.  Knowing  that  there  may  be  no 
snipe  to  be  found  on  one  day,  and  plenty  of  them  the 
next,  I  looked  upon  this  one  bird  as  a  sort  of  pioneer  of 
a  flight  yet  to  come.  The  next  day  I  worked  the  mead- 
ows all  over  again,  and  .with  the  same  result  as  before; 
no  birds  anywhere  about,  except  where  I  found  the  first 
one.  and  there  only  one,  which  I  killed.  Now  comes  the 
strange  part  of  it;  for  three  more  successive  days,  I  found 
and  killed  on  each  day  one  snipe  in  that  same  place, 
and  on  those  500  acres  of  meadow  could  find  no 


246  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

others.  How  did  each  of  those  birds  come  in  there  just 
at  the  right  time  to  have  the  place  to  himself,  and  how 
was  it  that,  on  so  large  a  stretch  of  good  feeding  and 
lying  ground,  each  of  those  birds  happened  to  select  that 
particular  spot  to  stop  in?  I  leave  it  for  wiser  heads 
than  mine  to  answer. 

Let  me  give  a  word  or  two  of  advice  to  the  intending 
snipe-shooter.  If  you  are  in  a  strange  part  of  the  coun- 
try, and  are,  therefore,  unacquainted  with  the  ground 
over  which  you  intend  shooting,  try  to  find  someone 
who  knows  the  nature  of  the  meadows.  You  can  almost 
always  succeed  in  this,  and,  for  a  reasonable  compensa- 
tion, get  a  man  or  a  boy  to  devote  at  least  a  day  to 
showing  you  over  the  meadows.  Get  him  to  point  out 
any  deep,  treacherous  spots,  where,  if  you  were  to  go, 
you  would  run  the  risk  of  getting  sunk  in  a  spring-hole, 
or  a  bed  of  quicksand.  Oftentimes,  good  snipe-grounds 
abound  in  such  places.  If  there  are  any  ditches,  as  there 
almost  always  are,  have  your  guide  show  you  the 
places  where  they  can  be  forded  safely,  or  crossed  in 
other  ways.  If  the  ground  be  intersected  with  •  small 
creeks,  too  deep  to  ford,  and  these  creeks  be  tributaries 
of  some  larger  stream  bordering  the  meadows,  have  your 
man  get  a  boat  and  keep  it  where  it  can  be  got  at  hand- 
ily, so  that  he  can  at  any  time  set  you  and  your  dogs 
across.  This  will  oftentimes  save  you  and  the  dogs 
much  walking  which  otherwise  were  unavoidable.  If 
the  main  stream  be  affected  by  the  tides,  ascertain  when 
the  tide  will  be  rising,  as  then  will  be  the  best  time  for 
you  to  be  on  hand.  The  rising  tide  will  drive  the  birds 
from  the  lower  grounds  to  the  higher  meadows,  con- 
fining them  within  narrower  limits,  where  they  may 
more  easily  be  reached.  Ground  which  at  low  tide  you 
might  be  able  to  walk  over  with  ease,  will  at  high  tide 
be  so  far  under  water  that  a  boat  will  be  necessary  for 


SXIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SHOOTING.  247 

getting  over  it.  By  having  the  boat,  you  will  be  enabled 
to  outmaneuver  another  shooter  not  so  far-sighted  as 
yourself;  and  while  he  is  laboriously  toiling  around  the 
heads  of  the  streams,  you  will  be  getting  the  cream  of 
the  sport. 

Although,  as  a  rule,  the  birds  will  be  well  out  on  the 
meadows,  the  rule,  like  many  others,  has  its  exceptions. 
Consequently,  if  you  do  not  find  so  many  birds  there  as 
you  think  are  in  the  neighborhood,  turn  your  atten- 
tion to  the  sides  of  the  meadows.  Never  neglect  to  work 
over  small  wet  spots  on  the  dryer  and  higher  parts  of 
the  ground.  Spots  which  may  seem,  to  the  novice,  too 
small  to  be  worth  investigating,  are  often  found  to  hold 
birds.  I  have  found  and  flushed  from  one  to  five  birds 
out  of  little  wet  spots  not  more  than  five  feet  square,  and 
all  such  places  are  worth  looking  through. 

Never  hurry  over  your  ground  in  snipe-shooting. 
The  snipe  being  but  a  small  bird,  and  one  of  weak  scent, 
as  compared  with  the  grouse  or  the  quail,  you  should 
give  your  dog,  or  dogs,  every  chance  to  locate  the  game. 
Owing  to  the  constant  evaporation  going  on  from  the 
moist  ground  on  which  they  are  found,  snipe  leave  little 
or  no  foot-scent.  From  learning  to  feel  in  the  air  for  the 
body-scent,  your  setter  or  pointer  will  get  the  correct 
habit  of  working  with  a  high  head.  He  will  learn  the 
absolute  necessity  of  turning  to  investigate  the  very 
faintest  indication  of  the  presence  of  his  game,  and  from 
this,  and  from  learning  to  work  down-wind  from  the  gun, 
he  will,  when  once  he  has  become  a  fine  dog  on  snipe, 
become  all  the  quicker  a  crack  dog  on  game  of  stronger 
scent.  I  am  well  aware  that  Southern  and  Western 
sportsmen  argue  the  very  reverse  of  this.  I  think  I 
understand  their  position  fully,  and  it  is  this:  With 
them,  snipe  are  so  plentiful,  arid  so  many  of  them  are 
found  near  together,  that  in  the  mere  matter  of  making 


248  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

a  large  bag  a  retriever  answers  every  purpose.  Moreover, 
if  working  a  setter  or  a  pointer  at  all  inclined  to  be  nerv- 
ous, the  constant  cautioning  and  chiding  of  such  a  dog, 
if  fast,  would  have  a  tendency  to  discourage  him,  and 
make  him  slow.  While  I  fully  admit  that  the  argument 
is  a  good  one  as  applied  to  those  localities,  and  others  where 
snipe  are  so  abundant,  it  will  not  apply  where  the  birds 
are  scarce.  With  my  snipe-dogs,  I  have  more  than  once 
beaten,  in  the  open  fields  and  hill-sides  of  Monmouth 
County,  New  Jersey,  both  on  snipe  and  quail,  dogs 
which  had  been  reared  there,  and  knew  the  grounds  better 
than  my  dogs.  Again,  I  have  done  the  same  thing 
in  our  Jersey  pines,  on  the  same  game,  and  all  because 
my  dogs  had  been  taught  both  speed  and  caution  on  that 
tricky  little  rascal,  the  Wilson's  snipe.  For  this  reason, 
though  many  may  disagree  with  me,  I  contend  that  a 
young  dog  who  is  very  good  on  snipe  will,  if  taken  West 
or  South,  become  good  on  grouse  and  quail  far  more 
quickly  than  if  introduced  to  those  birds  there  without 
the  previous  work  on  snipe  here.  I  have  no  desire  to 
seem  dictatorial,  but  write  as  experience  has  taught  me, 
and  I  feel  sure  that  every  old  snipe-shooter,  in  this  part  of 
the  country,  will  bear  me  out  in  saying  that  it  is  far 
easier  to  make  a  dog  good  on  any  other  game  than  it  is  to 
make  him  equally  good  on  snipe  here. 

Though  the  true  sportsman  is  never  inclined  to  over- 
look the  comfort  of  his  dogs  at  any  time,  it  is  especially 
needful  to  be  careful  of  the  snipe-dog.  It  is  work  par- 
ticularly trying  to  the  dog,  as  he  is  in  mud  and  water  the 
whole  time  he  is  at  work.  Therefore,  immediately  on 
coming  in  from  your  shoot,  bathe  him  clean  of  all  mud, 
and  then  rub  him  with  a  dry,  coarse  cloth.  See  if  his 
feet  be  cut,  or  his  ears  torn  by  briers,  and  clean  out  the 
latter  with  a  soft,  moist  sponge.  If  any  scratches  or 
thorn-wounds  show,  anoint  them  with  vaseline;  then  feed 


SXII'K,   AXD   SNIPE-SHOOTING.  249 

your  dog,  and  allow  him,  if  the  weather  is  at  all  cold, 
an  hour' s  nap  before  the  fire.  A  dog  so  cared  for  will 
last  as  long  again  as  if  allowed  to  go  dirty,  if  not  hungry, 
and  to  sleep  in  some  cold,  damp,  draughty  kennel;  and' 
I  repeat  that  a  good  dog  is  always  worth  the  best  and 
kindest  care  you  can  give  him. 

I  have  often  been  asked  which  I  prefer  for  the  work, 
the  setter  or  the  pointer.  It  depends  entirely  upon  the 
locality  in  which  you  intend  shooting.  If  I  were  going 
to  shoot  in  the  Southern  or  the  Southwestern  States,  I 
should  choose  the  pointer,  as,  not  only  in  autumn,  but 
throughout  the  winter,  the  temperature  of  both  the  air 
and  the  water  is  mild  and  pleasant.  Moreover,  the 
pointer  is  somewhat  more  easily  trained  than  the  setter, 
and  not  quite  so  much  inclined  to  have  a  will  of  his  own. 
From  his  coat  being  short,  he  carries  less  mud  in  it,  and 
dries  off  more  quickly  than  the  setter;  but,  for  the  more 
Northern  States,  the  setter  is  the  dog.  His  longer  coat 
keeps  him  warmer,  evaporation  is  less  rapid,  and  less 
danger  exists  of  his  being  struck  down  with  pneumonia 
or  crippled  with  rheumatism — snipe-dogs  being  pecul- 
iarly liable  to  the  last-named  disease  as  they  advance  in 
years.  Aside  from  these  considerations,  I  have  no  preju- 
dices in  favor  of,  or  against,  either  breed.  I  have  seen 
too  many  noble  dogs  of  either  breed  (and  have  owned 
some  of  each  myself)  to  allow  me  to  speak  or  think 
depreciatively  of  either. 

"  And  now,  young  brother  sportsman,  you  have  not 
yet  tried  snipe-shooting  on  our  Jersey  meadows;  shall 
we  spend  an  hour  or  two  at  the  sport?  Ah!  you  second 
the  motion,  do  you 2  All  right;  and  now  let  us  see  your 
gun.  Well,  you  are  in  luck.  Yes,  I  see  it  is  a  twelve-bore, 
with  twenty-eight-inch  barrels.  What  does  it  weigh?  Six 
and  three-quarters  pounds.  Well,  that  makes  a  mighty 
handy  gun.  Mine  is  a  seven-pound  hammerless,  of 


250  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  same  gauge  and  length  as  yours.  You  say  yours 
is  a  modified  choke  in  the  right  barrel,  a  full  choke  in 
the  left.  Mine  is  full  choke  in  both  barrels,  and  I  some- 
times think  I  will  have  the  choke  taken  down  a  little.  I 
like  both  barrels  to  shoot  alike,  as  I  always  fire  them  in 
alternation;  but  the  full  choke  don't  exactly  suit  my 
snap-shot  style  of  shooting.  Come,  let  us  be  off,  for  it 
is  a  beautiful  morning  in  that  loveliest  of  the  months- 
October. 

"  Let  us  try  this  open  pasture  meadow;  it  is  high,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  dry,  but  the  dogs  can  take  off  their 
wire  edge  on  it.  Yonder,  you  see,  are  one  or  two  low 
places,  and  they  are  almost  always  wet. 

"Look  at  my  dogs;  you  see  they  don't  go  through 
those  places  as  a  green  dog  would  be  likely  to,  but  along 
the  down -wind  side,  or,  as  a  sailor  would  say,  on  the  lee- 
ward side. 

"There!  the  bitch  has  a  point,  and  the  dog  is  backing 
her.  Well,  I  did  not  expect  we  should  find  a  bird  quite 
so  soon.  Only  a  lark,  you  say.  No,  siree!  my  dogs 
don't  point  larks;  but  come  up  and  take  the  shot. 

"  There!  stand  where  you  are;  I' 11  put  him  up.  Well, 
that  was  cleanly  done.  He  did  twist  about  some  when 
he  first  got  up,  but  you  let  him  go  just  to  the  right  spot 
before  you  pulled  on  him. 

"  Now  here  is  a  wet  meadow,  with  quite  a  creek  wind- 
ing through  it.  Yonder,  about  the  center,  you  see  those 
old  flood-gates;  go  right  out  to  them,  and  cross  over  the 
stream  there.  That  is  the  most  likely  ground,  and  the 
best  walking,  too.  Take  the  red  and  white  dog  with  you; 
he  will  work  for  you  while  I  am  in  sight.  T 11  keep  the 
bitch,  for  she  will  work  for  no  one  but  me.  Let  the  dog 
have  his  own  way,  and  give  him  no  orders,  except  to 
tell  him  to  retrieve  when  you  have  a  bird  down;  and 
now  go  ahead." 


(251) 


252  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

An  hour  lias  passed,  several  shots  have  been  fired  by 
both,  and  now  we  come  together. 

"Well,  what  luck?  You  fired,  let  me  see,  sixteen 
shots;  what  have  you  to  show  for  them?  Only  nine  birds, 
you  say.  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  that  is  doing  right  well 
for  a  new  hand;  I  have  done  worse  myself  many  a  time, 
though  I  have  done  pretty  well  to-day.  I  had  ten  shots, 
six  single  and  two  double  ones,  and  have  all  the  birds 
here. 

"And  now,  as  you  have  to  leave  by  the  next  train,  we 
have  only  time  to  get  home.  We  have  no  need  to  grumble, 
for  twenty  birds  out  of  twenty-six  is  a  score  we  need 
not  be  ashamed  of." 

This  is  but  a  faint,  a  very  faint,  outline  of  many  a  day 
I  have  had  on  those  meadows.  I  fear  I  shall  never  have 
such  sport  again;  certainly,  I  am  not  likely  to  on  those 
same  meadows. 

I  have  said  that  I  believe  the  Wilson's  snipe  some- 
times breeds  in  New  Jersey.  My  reason  for  so  thinking 
is  all  based  upon  two  slight  incidents,  coming  under  my 
personal  observation.  On  July  4,  1867,  I  had  a  relative, 
then  living  in  Philadelphia,  Penn.,  come  up  to  see  if  he 
could  find  any  woodcock  on  our  meadows.  I  had  little 
hope  of  finding  birds,  for  the  two  preceding  months  of 
May  and  June  had  been  very  rainy.  This  enabled  the 
birds  to  remain  in  the  little  upland  swamps,  which  at 
other  times  were  too  dry. 

My  prediction  proved  correct,  for  we  found  in  a  morn- 
ing's  long  walk  only  three  woodcock;  but,  on  a  meadow 
adjoining  those  of  my  old  home-farm,  my  dogs  found, 
and  I  flushed,  an  adult  Wilson's  snipe.  I  could  have  shot 
the  bird  easily  enough,  but  did  not  molest  it,  for  I  felt  sure 
it  had  a  nest  or  young  near  by.  On  the  llth  day  of  the 
following  September,  I  found  and  shot  two  well-grown 
but  not  fully  feathered  snipe,  not  200  yards  from  where 


SNIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SHOOTING.  253 

I  hud  flushed  the  old  bird  on  the  4th  of  the  preceding 
July.  They  were  the  fattest  snipe  I  ever  saw;  for,  to  use 
a  common  expression,  they  were  "just  like  lumps  of 
butter."  Neither  of  them  could  fly  more  than  100  yards 
at  a  stretch,  and  their  feathers  were  so  much  lighter  in 
color  than  that  of  an  adult  bird,  that  I  did  not  recognize 
them  for  snipe  when  they  flushed,  or  I  would  not  have 
shot  at  them.  Coupling  their  inability  to  fly  far  with 
the  fact  of  their  exceeding  fatness,  it  is  fair  to  say  that 
they  were  bred  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  Coupling 
these  two  facts  with  the  previous  one  of  my  flushing  an 
old  bird  from  so  near  by,  only  six  or  eight  weeks  earlier 
in  the  season,  I  think  it  will  be  admitted  that  I  have  a 
right  to  think  that  those  birds  all  belonged  to  one  family, 
and  that  the  young  were  hatched  on  those  meadows. 
Furthermore,  I  worked  over  those  meadows  with  my  j 
dogs  two  or  three  times  a  week  thereafter,  and  I  find, 
by  reference  to  my  shooting-notes,  that  the  autumn  flight 
of  snipe  did  not  begin  to  be  seen,  in  that  year,  till  October 
8th,  which  was  within  a  few  days  of  being  one  month  later. 

The  earliest  date  on  which  I  have  ever  shot  snipe  in 
spring  was  on  the  24th  of  February,  1866;  yet  the  next 
year  my  first  birds  were  killed  on  the  28th  of  March. 
I  have  shot  them  so  late  as  the  12th  of  December,  and  it 
is  not  an  uncommon  thing  for  them  to  winter  quite  far 
north.  We  should  hear  of  it  far  oftener  than  we  do,  but 
that  sportsmen,  during  autumn,  turn  their  attention  to 
larger  game. 

Sportsmen  of  the  West  and  Southwest  are  somewhat 
excusable  for  wishing  to  shoot  them  in  spring,  since  in 
those  sections  they  are  frequently  driven  off  by  the  dry- 
ness  of  the  grounds  in  the  autumn,  arid  if  they  were  not 
shot  during  the  spring  flight,  they  would  not  be  found 
at  all.  That  they  are  shot  there  almost  entirely  without 
the  aid  of  dogs,  other  than  retrievers,  is  due  to  the  fact 


254  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

that  they  are  found  in  such  great  numbers,  and  so  easily. 
It  is  not  by  any  means  an  uncommon  thing  for  a  good  shot 
to  kill  from  fifty  to  100  birds  in  a  day.  Tastes  differ, 
and  to  me  the  working  of  the  dogs,  and  not  the  size  of  the 
bag,  is  the  measure  of  the  sport,  and,  for  that  reason, 
I  would  rather  kill  twenty  birds  over  a  brace  of  fast, 
well-trained,  keen-nosed  setters  or  pointers  than  200  with 
a  mere  retriever.  Tastes  also  differ  as  to  the  edible 
qualities  of  game;  but,  in  the  writer's  estimation,  no  bird 
surpasses  the  snipe  as  a  table  delicacy. 

During  the  spring  flight,  snipe  do  not  resort  only  to 
the  meadows.  Wet  upland  pastures,  corn -stubbles,  the 
sides  of  ditches,  and  wet  spots  on  fields  of  upstanding 
winter  wheat  or  rye,  will  be  found  to  be  frequented  by 
them.  In  cold,  windy  weather,  they  resort  to  open,  wet 
woodlands,  alder  and  willow  thickets,  or  places  on  the 
marshes  protected  from  the  wind  by  tall  rushes. 

It  is  a  mistake  for  the  novice  to  suppose  that  every 
marsh  is  good  ground  for  snipe.  If  the  soil  is  of  a  sour 
nature,  the  worms  they  delight  in  will  not  be  found 
there,  and  neither  will  the  birds.  They  never  come  in 
the  spring  till  the  frost  is  well  out  of  the  ground,  so  that 
their  feed  will  be  plentiful,  and  easily  reached;  and 
instinct  teaches  them  that  warm  spring  rains  have  a 
tendency  to  bring  about  the  proper  conditions. 

On  their  first  coming,  they  are  thin  and  worn  down, 
but,  if  they  be  undisturbed,  and  feed  be  plentiful,  they 
soon  become  fat  and  lazy  in  bright,  still  weather.  The 
feed  must  be  plentiful  indeed,  for  a  snipe  will  consume 
from  three  to  four  times  his  weight  of  food  in  a  day. 
Beyond  having  to  look  for  them  in  places  to  which  they 
rarely  resort  in  autumn — such  places  as  I  have  named — the 
shooting  of  them  differs  in  nowise  from  that  in  autumn. 

How  best  to  shoot  them  is  a  mooted  point.  I  always 
take  them  the  instant  they  flush,  unless  very  close  by; 


SNIPE,  AND   SNIPE-SHOOTING.  25.J 

others  wait  till  they  steady  in  their  flight,  and  do  good 
shooting. 

Although  most  of  their  migrating  is  done  at  night, 
they  sometimes  fly  in  dark  weather.  They  can  fre- 
quently be  heard  passing  overhead  at  night,  as  they 
keep  up  the  well-known  cry  of  "scaipe,  scaipe."  The 
drumming,  as  it  is  called,  which  is  so  often  referred  to  by 
other  writers  and  sportsmen,  is  a  thing  I  have  never  seen 
them  do.  Neither  have  I  ever  heard  them  "chuckle  like 
lay  ing  hens,"  nor  seen  them  "perch  upon  fences  or  trees." 
I  can  not  doubt  their  doing  these  things,  as  the  facts  are 
too  well  substantiated  to  admit  of  doubt,  and  it  is  well 
known  that  these  are  habits  of  the  mating  and  breeding 
season. 

I  sometimes  wonder  how  many  sportsmen  there  are 
who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  observe  a  migrating 
flock  of  snipe  coming  onto  the  meadows.  I  have  had 
the  good  luck  to  see  it  twice  in  my  experience — once  in 
the  spring  and  once  in  autumn.  By  mere  chance,  it  hap- 
pened, on  both  occasions,  that  I  was  out  without  a  gun, 
merely  giving  my  setters  a  race.  It  also  happened  that 
both  times  the  birds  came  in  on  the  same  meadow.  It 
was  one  of  some  twenty  acres  of  ground,  and  one  which 
during  the  summer  was  dry,  and  from  which  hay  was  cut. 
Though  it  was  only  about  a  mile  from  home,  there  wrere 
no  birds  to  be  found  on  my  return  with  my  gun,  though 
to  get  it  I  was,  in  neither  instance,  absent  over  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour;  nor  could  I  find  any  birds  on  the 
adjacent  meadows.  They  had  dropped  in  only  for  a  little 
rest. 

In  boring  for  their  food,  snipe  make  holes  in  the  mud 
which  look  as  if  a  thin  pencil  had  been  pushed  into  the 
ground.  You  may,  however,  find  many  of  these  borings, 
yet  find  no  birds,  they  having  changed  their  quarters; 
but  should  you  see  the  droppings  of  the  birds  where  the' 


256  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

ground  is  at  all  wet,  you  may  know  the  birds  are  near  at 
hand,  or  have  just  left.  On  dry  spots,  the  droppings 
remain  plain  to  the  sight  for  days,  but  on  wet  ground 
speedily  lose  color,  and  are  absorbed  by  the  soil. 

I  have  noted  elsewhere  that  it  is  best  to  look  for  the 
game  on  bright,  warm  days,  when  little  wind  is  blowing. 
They  are  loath  to  rise  at  such  times,  but  on  raw,  cold, 
windy  days  they  will  be  wild  and  uneasy. 

I  have  before  me  an  excellent  little  chapter  on  snipe 
as  they  are  found  in  the  Western  States,  from  which  I 
quote.  Unfortunately,  I  do  not  know  who  the  writer  is, 
so  can  not  give  him  credit,  as  I  would  like  to: 

"Snipe  are  as  eccentric  in  their  habits  as  when  on  the 
wing.  At  times,  in  the  spring,  they  come  early  and  tarry 
late,  .affording  most  excellent  sport  throughout  the 
season.  Again,  they  feed  on  the  open  marshes  mostly 
by  night,  and  with  the  earliest  dawn  hie  away  into  the 
inaccessible  center  of  the  slough,  or  among  the  low  brush- 
wood growing  up  in  or  close  by  the  marsh,  or  even  upon 
the  near  uplands,  where  they  rise  always  far  out  of  range. 
A  peculiarity  of  good  snipe-ground  is  its  seeming  inex- 
haustibility. On  a  well-stocked  snipe-ground,  you  raise 
possibly  100  birds  to-day,  and  kill  off  a  couple  of 
dozen.  To-morrow,  there  seem  about  as  many,  and  your 
success  corresponds  with  that  of  yesterday;  so  through  a 
whole  week,  perhaps,  with  apparently  no  marked  addi- 
tion or  subtraction  from  the  quantity  of  game  when  you 
desist." 

Always  hunt  snipe  with  the  wind  on  your  back,  as 
they  seem  to  require  the  resistance  of  the  wind  to  enable 
them  to  rise  quickly.  By  working  in  this  way,  the  birds 
lie  closer,  and  you  get  shots  nearer  at  hand,  for,  as  they 
spring  up  in  the  face  of  the  wind,  they  will  present  to  you 
side-quartering  shots.  They  are  not  a  hard  bird  to  kill, 
as  one  or  two  pellets  of  No.  8  or  9  shot  will  stop  them.  As 


SXIPE,  AND  S:NTIPE-SHOOTIXG.  257 

to  hitting  them,  that  is  another  matter,  for  out  of  twenty 
birds  flushed  no  two  may  rise  in  the  same  way,  and  you 
must  watch  how  they  rise,  and  vary  your  tactics  on  each 
individual  bird. 

In  looking  for  them,  and  especially  during  the  spring 
migrations,  look  for  them  wherever  there  are  moist  spots 
of  ground.  This,  besides  including  the  open  marshes,  also 
includes  wet  places  on  corn-stubble,  grain-stubbles,  past- 
ure-fields, and,  if  there  be  a  raw.  cold  wind,  open,  wet 
woodlands  and  half -filled  old  ditches. 

In  bright,  warm  weather,  with  low  southerly  winds, 
during  the  morning  and  afternoon  hours  the  open  mead- 
ows and  marshes  are  the  grounds. 

Work  your  grounds  over  slowly  and  thoroughly, 
since,  though  one  or  two  birds  may  be  in  an  unaccommo- 
dating humor,  and  flush  far  out  of  range,  the  next  one 
may  lie  up  close,  and  let  you  pass  him,  unless  carefully 
looked  for. 

Snipe  are  given  many  names  by  the  country  people, 
but  their  true  title  is  the  Wilson  snipe — Scolopax  Wil- 
sonii  of  the  early  naturalist,  Gallinago  Wilsonii  of  the 
later  ones.  "  English  snipe ' '  and  k'jacksnipe"  are  both 
misnomers,  as  the  names  of  two  birds  found  in  the  British 
Isles  are  given  to  a  single  bird. 

As  in  snipe-shooting  3-011  are  most  of  the  time  on  wet 
ground,  it  is  well,  particularly  in  the  spring,  when  both 
water  and  the  soil  beneath  it  have  the  chill  of  winter  yet 
in  them,  to  keep  the  feet  dry,  if  possible.  Therefore  use 
long  rubber  boots,  and,  with  moderate  care  and  some 
knowledge  of  your  ground,  you  may  escape  wet  feet,  and 
a  possible  attack  of  pneumonia.  With  the  exception  of 
duck-shooting,  there  is  more  exposure  to  wet  in  snipe- 
shooting  than  in  any  other  sport. 

Remember  (as  I  have  already  pointed  out)  that  not 
every  piece  of  low,  wet  ground  is  necessarily  good  ground. 

17 


258  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

If  the  soil  is  sour,  or  washed  by  mineral  springs,  the 
worms  the  birds  feed  on  will  not  be  there,  and,  as  the 
snipe  is  a  ravenous  feeder,  he  will  not  go  onto  such 
places,  though  they  will  come  to  good  feeding-ground  as 
soon  in  the  spring  as  the  frost  is  out  so  that  they  can 
reach  their  food,  and  on  such  grounds,  and  in  good 
weather,  will  most  probably  be  found  day  after  day. 
Hence,  if  you  do  not  find  them  to-day  where  yesterday 
there  were  plenty  of  them,  do  not  be  discouraged,  but  try 
other  ground,  and  return  to  the  old  quarters  on  the 
moiTOw. 

Every  sportsman  has  his  favorite  game,  but,  though  I 
am  fully  cognizant  of  the  delight  of  shooting  other  game, 
the  snipe,  because  of  the  eccentricity  of  his  ways,  is  and 
ever  will  be  my  favorite  game  bird.  Next  to  him  I  rank 
the  woodcock. 

I  have  spent  many  happy  days  in  the  pursuit  of  snipe, 
and  feel  to  them  a  lasting  indebtedness  for  that  pleasure. 
I  have  written  of  them  as  I  have  found  them,  relying 
upon  other  authors  as  little  as  possible,  and  giving  the 
results  of  such  experience  and  observation  as  unlimited 
opportunities  have  favored  me  with. 

If  anything  I  have  written  should  be  of  any  use  to 
some  young  brother  of  the  trigger,  or  should  call  up  in 
the  minds  of  old  hands  at  snipe-shooting  memories  of 
past  pleasant  days  with  the  long-bills,  my  work  will  not 
have  been  in  vain.  Much  that  has  been  written  of  them 
by  writers  like  Forester,  I  could  have  reproduced  here, 
but  the  desire  not  to  be  tedious  has  kept  my  pen  within 
bounds,  and  had  I  written  a  volume  on  the  subject,  I  do 
not  feel  that  I  could  have  written  more  to  the  purpose. 


WESTERN  FIELD   SPORTS  IN  EARLY  DAYS. 


BY  SAMUEL,  C.  CLARKE, 
Autlior  of  "  Fishes  of  the  East  Atlantic  Coast,"  Etc. 


"  Old  men  forget,  yet  shall  not  all  forget, 
But  they'll  remember  with  advantage 
AVhat  feats  they  did  that  day." 

SHAKESPEARE,  King  Henry  V. 

was  in  October,  1839,  that  the  writer  landed 
in  Chicago,  from  the  lake  steamer  Illi- 
nois, which  plied  between  Buffalo  and  Chi- 
cago, no  railroads  then  existing  west  of 
Central  New  York.  Chicago  then  contained 
less  than  5,000  people,  living  on  half  a  dozen 
streets  running  parallel  with  the  river,  on  its  north  and 
south  banks. 

The  West  Division  was  then  hardly  existent,  and  a 
low,  wet  prairie  extended  from  the  Chicago  River  to  the 
Des  Plaines— twelve  miles — a  wide  sea  of  grass,  embel- 
lished with  flowers.  At  that  time,  there  were  only  three 
or  four  brick  buildings  on  Lake  Street,  on  which,  with 
South  Water  Street,  the  main  business  of  the  town  was 
done.  It  was  in  that  year  that  the  first  shipment  of 
wheat,  about  150  bushels,  was  made  to  Buffalo,  and  it 
was  thought  worthy  of  record  that,  in  1840, 1,000,000  feet 
of  lumber  were  sold  in  a  city  since  become  the  largest 
lumber  market  in  the  world.  In  fact,  times  were  dull; 
the  great  land  boom  of  1836  had  expended  its  force,  and 
lots  which  two  years  before  had  sold  for  thousands,  now 
sought  in  vain  for  purchasers  at  any  price.  Some  people 

(259) 


260  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

thought  that  Chicago  was  a  failure,  and  were  going  back 
East,  or  north  to  the  more  prosperous  village  of  Mil- 
waukee. But  living  was  very  cheap;  the  writer  boarded 
for  $2  a  week  at  the  City  Hotel,  where  venison,  grouse, 
ducks,  and  white-fish  covered  the  board.  So  the  more 
hopeful  of  us  concluded  to  stay  and  wait  for  better 
times. 

There  were  three  brothers  of  us,  all  living  in  Chicago, 
and  all  fond  of  field  sports,  and  as  business  was  so  dull 
that  one  of  us  could  easily  look  after  the  store,  the 
others  could  improve  the  great  opportunities  offered  in 
the  way  of  shooting  and  fishing. 

I  was  then  over  thirty  years  old,  and  had  been  a 
wanderer  in  many  lands,  and  had  been  where  game  was 
plentiful,  but  had  never  seen  anything  like  the  abundance 
of  fur  and  feather  there  was  in  Northern  Illinois.  The 
Sac  and  Fox  Indians  had  been  removed  a  few  years  before 
from  this  region,  which  they  naturally  were  unwilling  to 
leave,  and  all  kinds  of  game  had  increased  since  their 
departure. 

The  day  after  my  arrival,  my  brother  drove  me  out  a 
few  miles  to  a  farm  where  the  prairie  fowl  abounded. 
In  summer  they  were  found  all  over  the  prairies,  but  in 
the  fall  they  collected  about  the  grain-fields.  Our  old 
pointer,  Phil,  soon  came  to  a  point,  and  we  left  the  wagon 
with  our  guest;  but  when  a  flock  of  twenty  or  thirty 
birds,  as  big  as  barn-door  fowls,  rose  from  the  stubble 
with  a  roar  of  wings,  I  stood  bewildered.  My  brother, 
however,  brought  down  a  bird  with  each  barrel.  They 
fell  on  the  sod,  thump,  and  I  picked  up  my  first  pinnated 
grouse,  a  bird,  in  my  estimation,  at  the  head  of  American 
game.  To  those  accustomed  to  its  noisy  way  of  rising, 
this  bird  is  not  difficult  to  kill,  but  I  have  known  the 
best  Eastern  shots,  men  who  could  cut  down  the  ruffed 
grouse  as  it  dodged  among  the  trees,  or  the  snipe  as  it 


WESTERN  FIELD    SPORTS   IN   EARLY  DAYS.  261 

flew  zigzag  over  the  meadows,  unable  to  stop  a  prairie 
hen  on  the  first  day's  shooting. 

These  birds  are  usually  hatched,  in  broods  of  twelve 
to  fifteen,  in  May,  and  on  the  1st  of  August  shooting 
was  allowed,  though  the  young  birds  were  not  really 
large  enough  to  be  killed  till  September,  their  flight  being 
still  weak  and  their  flesh  insipid;  but  it  was  so  easy  to 
kill  the  half -grown  birds,  that  the  gunners  usually  did  it, 
though  the  sportsmen  waited  till  the  grouse  were  strong 
on  the  wing  and  had  a  game  flavor. 

I  was  once  crossing  the  prairie  west  of  Chicago,  late 
in  July,  with  a  friend,  on  our  way  to  some  woodcock 
grounds,  when  we  saw  a  couple  of  Germans  shooting  the 
young  grouse.  My  friend,  who  was  a  very  free-spoken 
man,  called  out  to  them  as  we  passed:  "Say,  boys, 
why  don't  you  suck  the  eggs?  " 

We  had  in  Chicago  at  that  time  many  good  dogs,  not 
valued  at  hundreds  of  dollars,  as  in  these  wealthy  times, 
but  well  bred,  and  good  workers  in  the  field.  In  fact,  if  a 
dog  was  well  bred  it  was  easy  to  train  him,  where  grouse 
were  so  abundant.  There  was  a  large  breed  of  liver-and- 
white  setters,  which,  from  their  size,  could  easily  be  seen 
in  the  long  grass.  They  were  called  the  "  Southport " 
setters,  from  a  town  where  they  originated.  I  have  seen 
a  young  dog  of  this  breed,  which  had  never  seen  a  bird 
in  the  field,  taken  out  in  the  morning  with  a  trained  dog, 
and  before  night  the  youngster  would  stand  as  stanchly 
as  the  old  dog. 

I  had  myself  a  brace  of  pointer  pups,  out  of  old  Phil, 
which,  at  six  months  old,  never  having  been  off  my 
premises,  were  taken  by  me  to  a  field  near  town  where  I 
thought  birds  were  to  be  found.  While  I  was  fastening 
my  horse,  the  young  dogs  jumped  the  fence  and  disap- 
peared. I  followed,  and  found  them  afar  off,  apparently 
standing  birds;  as  I  approached,  I  saw  the  remarkable 


262  UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

sight  of  two  young  dogs,  which  had  never  before  seen  or 
scented  .game,  one  at  a  point,  the  other  backing  him. 
When  I  came  up,  I  flushed  a  brood  of  young  grouse,  and 
the  dogs,  although  much  excited,  did  not  attempt  to  chase 
— a  remarkable  instance  of  education  transmitted  through 
many  generations  of  trained  dogs.  Phil,  the  father  of 
these  puppies,  was  a  famous  dog  in  his  day;  he  would 
retrieve  his  birds  when  ordered,  and  even  go  into  the 
water  for  ducks,  if  allowed.  He  has  more  than  once 
pointed  a  covey  with  a  dead  bird  in  his  mouth,  and  I  have 
seen  him  come  to  a  point  on  the  top  rail  of  a  fence  as  he 
was  jumping  over,  scenting  birds  in  the  next  field. 
When  grouse  ran  before  him,  and  lie  feared  that  his  mas- 
ter would  not  get  up  in  time  to  shoot,  he  would  back  out, 
run  around  the  covey,  and  bring  them  to  a  halt,  never 
flushing  them,  and  would  fetch  the  wounded  birds  before 
the  dead  ones,  knowing,  as  it  seemed,  that  the  wounded 
ones  might  escape.  He  would  hunt  with  anyone  he 
knew,  but  if  the  hunter  shot  badly,  would  leave  in  dis- 
gust, and  go  home.  He  was  often  stolen,  but  always 
returned  in  a  few  days,  sometimes  with  a  rope  around  his 
neck,  foot-sore  and  weary,  as  if  he  had  traveled  far.  He 
was  a  strongly  built,  liver-colored  dog,  with  a  white  spot 
on  his  breast;  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  left  many 
descendants  of  value  in  and  about  Chicago.  I  have 
owned  many  dogs  of  various  breeds,  but  I  think  that  this 
pointer,  Phil,  was  the  most  intelligent  of  his  race — 
perhaps  because  he  lived  day  and  night  at  his  master's 
side,  and  so  became  almost  human  in  his  ways. 

Grouse  being  so  plenty,   of  course  large  bags  were 
made — thirty  or  forty  to  a  gun  in  a  day.     My  friend 

J.  E.  M -,  a  wonderful  shot,  once  drove  from  Fox  River 

to  Chicago  in  a  day — forty  miles— and  killed  about  100 
grouse  on  the  way,  with  one  dog.  As  full-grown  grouse 
were  worth  only  $1  a  dozen  at  Chicago,  there  was  little 


WESTERN  FIELD   SPORTS    IN   EARLY   DAYS.  263 

shooting  for  the  market.  A  sportsman  conld  easily  kill 
all  he  wanted  for  himself  and  friends,  and  was  not  apt  to 
play  the  hog. 

I  once  tried  the  experiment  of  keeping  this  bird  in 
captivity  in  winter,  when  the  farmers  used  to  catch  them, 
alive  in  traps  and  bring  them  to  town  for  sale.  I  put 
about  100  in  a  large  garret,  and  fed  them  on  corn  and 
wheat,  but  they  never  got  tame  enough  to  bear  the  sight 
of  me,  and  flew  up  against  the  roof  at  my  approach, 
wounding  and  killing  themselves,  and  the  cocks  would 
fight  furiously  together.  By  spring,  four  were  left  alive 
out  of  the  100,  and  those  poor  in  flesh,  so  I  turned  the 
survivors  loose. 

I  once  turned  out  a  cock  grouse,  with  clipped  wings, 
among  my  poultry;  but  they  would  not  associate  together, 
and  when  his  wings  grew  out  again,  he  flew  away.  I 
have  heard  that  grouse  have  been  tamed,  but  think  they 
should  be  hatched  by  a  hen  to  make  a  success  of  it. 

About  1842  or  1843,  I  found  a  covey  of  grouse  on  the 
prairie,  somewhere  near  Michigan  Avenue  and  Twelfth 
Street,  as  it  now  is,  a_nd  we  killed  some  of  them.  These, 
I  think,  were  the  last  shots  fired  by  us  within  the  limits 
of  the  present  City  of  Chicago. 

We  had  woodcock-shooting  in  summer  along  the  Chi- 
cago River,  and  in  the  sloughs  along  the  lake  shore.  In  the 
timber  along  the  Des  Plaines  River,  woodcock  abounded. 

I  was  there  once  with  Dr.  J.  T.  T ,who  was  one  of  the 

best  shots  I  ever  saw.  We  put  up  many  birds  that  day. 
Out  of  twenty  shots,  Doctor  T—  -  killed  eighteen  birds, 
and  that  in  thick  cover — a  feat  hard  to  surpass.  I  always 
liked  to  shoot  with  this  gentleman,  for  he  gave  me  the 
easy  shots,  and  if  I  missed  the  birds,  he  would  bring 
them  down. 

Doctor  T used  to  hunt  in  early  days  with  the  famous 

Capt.  Martin  Scott,  who  commanded  the  garrison  in  Chi- 


264  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

cago,  and  was  afterward  killed  in  Mexico.  I  asked  the 
Doctor  whether  Scott  could  outshoot  him.  ' '  I  usually 
got  as  many  birds  as  the  Captain, "  said  he,  ' '  for  he  was 
so  careful  of  his  reputation  of  being  a  dead  shot,  that  he 
picked  his  shots,  while  I  blazed  away  at  everything  that 
came  along."  I  doubt  if  there  were  two  men  in  America 
who  could  have  got  more  game  of  any  kind  in  a  day  than 

Captain  Scott  and  Doctor  T .  They  were  both  men  of 

untiring  muscle,  with  the  piercing  black  eyes  generally 
found  in  successful  hunters. 

There  were  many  good  shots  in  Chicago  at  that  time, 
game  being  so  plentiful  that  all  who  had  a  taste  for  field 
sports  could  easily  gratify  it. 

After  the  grouse,  came  quail,  for  those  who  cared  for 
small  game;  then  came  the  ducks,  which  were  to  be  found 
in  every  river,  creek,  pond,  and  slough. 

In  1840,  there  was  an  old  swing-bridge  at  Randolph 
Street,  the  only  means  of  crossing  to  the  West  Division, 
which  contained  not  more  than  a  dozen  buildings. 
Above  Madison  Street,  the  river  banks  were  uninhabited 
till  you  came  to  a  small  farm,  half  a  mile  up  the  south 
branch.  I  have  killed  many  ducks  in  the  river  just  above 
Madison  Street  bridge.  In  the  fall  and  spring,  this  whole 
West  Division  was  a  wet  prairie,  the  haunt  of  curlew, 
snipe,  and  other  wading  birds.  The  rare  and  beautiful 
bird  known  as  Wilson' s  phalarope  used  to  breed  in  these 
marshes,  and  I  supplied  Eastern  collectors  with  speci- 
mens. I  have  seen  the  snipe  so  abundant  in  that  region, 
now  the  most  populous  part  of  Chicago,  that  you  could 
not  walk  a  rod  without  flushing  one  of  the  long-bills, 
and  perhaps  the  next  day  they  would  all  be  gone. 

For  ducks  we  usually  went  to  the  Calumet  River  and 
the  Calumet  Lake,  now  the  site  of  a  larger  and  much 
handsomer  city  than  Chicago  was  in  1840.  I  made  a  col- 
lection of  fowl  from  that  river,  and  it  contained  four 


WESTERN   FIELD   SPOETS   IN   EARLY   DAYS.  265 

species  of  geese  and  twenty  of  ducks,  besides  a  swan 
and  a  pelican — all  killed  by  myself  and  friends.  We 
used  no  blinds  or  decoys,  but  paddled  our  own  canoes, 
and  the  old  muzzle-loaders  would  bring  a  bag  of  from 
twenty  to  fifty  ducks  in  a  day  to  each  gun.  I  brought 
with  me,  from  Boston,  a  female  pup  of  the  short-haired 
Newfoundland  breed,  which  I  imported  from  St.  Johns, 
and  a  remarkable  retriever  she  proved  to  be.  The  first 
time  I  took  her  out,  though  she  had  never  heard  a  gun 
fired,  when  I  killed  a  duck,  and  it  fell  into  the  river,  Fan 
brought  it  out  as  handsomely  as  an  old  dog  could  have 
retrieved  it.  After  that,  no  wounded  ducks  could  escape 
her,  she  swam  so  fast  and  dived  so  deep;  but  she 
sometimes  failed  to  distinguish  between  wild  and  tame 
fowls,  and  always  wanted  to  bring  me  the  ducks  and 
geese  belonging  to  the  Irish  folks  along  the  river. 

In  the  woods  and  groves,  ruffed  grouse  were  to  be 
found  abundantly.  I  have  seen  a  bag  of  at  least  thirty 
of  them  brought  by  two  sportsmen  from  the  Des  Plaines 
timber,  the  result  of  one  day's  sport,  which  is  more  than 
we  could  ever  get  in  my  youth  in  New  England. 

In  the  winter  came  deer-hunting,  and  the  whole  coun- 
try was  full  of  them.  A  party  of  four  or  five  hunters 
would,  in  a  two  days'  hunt,  get  ten  or  fifteen  deer.  About 
1842, 1  remember  a  circular  drive,  where  100  men  or  more, 
and  a  mixed  pack  of  dogs,  surrounded  Blue  Island,  and 
drove  probably  fifty  deer  into  town  as  far  as  Thirtieth 
Street.  Most  of  them,  however,  broke  through  the  ring 
and  escaped;  perhaps  six  or  eight  were  killed.  One  win- 
ter's day  I  was  out  on  the  prairie  south  of  the  town,  in  a 
sleigh,  with  a  friend  who  drove  a  pair  of  thorough-bred 
sorrels;  along  came  a  buck,  pursued  by  a  brace  of  deer- 
hounds  then  in  use,  powerful  and  fieet  dogs,  a  cross 
between  the  English  greyhound  and  the  bull-dog.  My 
friend  put  his  horses  on  the  run,  and  we  kept  up  with  the 


266  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

chase  for  a  mile  or  so;  but  the  snow  was  deep,  and  the  deer 
outran  both  dogs  and  horses.  These  hounds  were  also 
used  to  chase  prairie  wolves,  which  were  plentiful,  and 
one  of  them  could  kill  a  wolf  without  help.  Another 
time,  I  was  out  on  the  prairie  with  my  brother,  in  a  sleigh, 
when  a  deer  came  in  sight. 

My  brother  unharnessed  his  horse,  put  on  a  saddle, 
took  a  gun,  and  started  in  pursuit,  leaving  me  on  the 
boundless  prairie.  He  returned  in  half  an  hour,  having 
killed  the  buck,  which  we  picked  up.  We  had  a  mare 
so  well  trained  that  we  could  shoot  off  of  her  back,  or 
leave  her  on  the  prairie  while  we  went  to  shoot,  and  she 
would  follow  us  about,  grazing  as  she  went. 

About  thirty  miles  north  of  Chicago  is  the  town  of 
Lake  -Forest,  with  a  large  population  of  wealthy  Chicago 
men.  This,  in  1840,  wTas  a  region  of  heavily  wooded 
ravines,  where  deer  were  abundant.  The  only  white 
inhabitant  was  an  old  hunter  by  the  name  of  Clark — 
"Indian  Clark,"  he  was  called,  to  distinguish  him  from 
others  of  the  same  name.  He  lived  in  a  log  cabin,  and 
subsisted  on  the  proceeds  of  the  chase.  The  deer  he  called 
his  cattle,  and  would  call  on  any  brother  who  was  fond 
of  deer-hunting,  when  he  came  to  town,  with  this  invi- 
tation: "Doctor,  my  cattle  are  getting  fat;  won't  you 
come  out  and  kill  a  few?"  which  suggestion  was  seldom 
refused. 

My  first  deer-hunt  was,  as  I  remember,  writh  J.  E. 

M ,  in  the  wooded  country  west  of  Fox  River.     We 

were  driving  through  a  grove  in  McHenry  County,  and 
were  descending  into  a  little  valley,  when  up  sprang  a 
dozen  deer  from  the  long  grass  all  around  us.  My  com- 
panion, always  ready,  quickly  raised  his  rifle,  and 
brought  down  a  fine  buck;  but  I  was  so  much  astonished 
at  the  unaccustomed  sight,  that  I  forgot  my  gun,  and  sat 
gazing  at  the  retreating  herd.  We  marked  where  they 


WESTERN"    FIELD   SPORTS    IX    EARLY    DAYS.  267 

went  into  the  timber,  half  a  mile  away,  and  as  a  wagon 
and  ox-team  came  along,  M—  -  engaged  the  driver  to 
follow  the  deer,  which  are  riot  afraid  of  oxen.  We  left 
our  wagon,  and  I  got  into  the  other  one,  which  was  driyen 

slowly  toward  the  deer,  M ,  in  the  meantime,  making 

a  circuit  through  the  woods,  and  hiding  beyond  the  deer. 
They  kept  out  of  range  of  my  shot-gun,  feeding  along 
until  they  got  within  100  yards  of  the  ambushed  hunter, 
who  got  two  of  them  in  range,  and  killed  them  both  with 
one  bullet.  This  was  all  the  meat  we  wanted.  A.  deer's 
carcass  could  then  be  bought  for  $1.50 — hide  and  all. 

I  have  always  been  more  fond  of  fishing  than  of 
shooting,  and  in  1840  the  fish  in  the  Illinois  waters  were 
as  abundant  as  game  on  the  land.  From  the  lake  piers 
we  could  catch  perch,  pike,  lake  trout,  black  and  white 
bass,  cat-fish,  and  sometimes  a  muskallonge.  At  that  time 
the  Chicago  River  water  was  pure  enough  to  drink,  and 
pike,  black  bass,  rock  bass,  cat-fish,  and  dog-fish  could 
be  taken  in  either  branch  of  the  river,  above  the  forks. 
In  the  Calumet  River,  all  these  species  were  to  be  found 
in  great  numbers,  so  that  100  pounds  a  day  were  often 
taken  with  the  rod.  Big  gar-fish  and  muskallonge  were 
there  also.  I  saw  one  of  the  latter,  which  was  six  feet 
long,  and  weighed  eighty  pounds,  taken  in  a  seine  at  the 
river' s  mouth.  In  the  Fox  River,  and  the  lakes  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  State,  all  these  fish  were  plentiful, 
as  also  in  the  Rock  River.  I  caught  black  bass  with  the 
fly  in  those  waters  fifty  years  ago.  It  is  claimed  that  the 
spoon  is  rather  a  modern  device  for  catching  fish,  but  I 
used  .them  on  the  lakes  as  long  ago  as  1842,  and  I  think 
they  were,  in  a  simple  form,  brought  from  Norway  by  the 
immigrants. 

In  the  fall  of  1840,  I  went,  in  company  with  Doctor 
to  the  new  Territory  of  Iowa.  We  traveled  in  a 


light  wagon,  with  two  horses,  taking  a  change  of  clothing. 


268  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

our  guns,  and  a  pointer  dog.  We  went  by  way  of 
Aurora,  on  Fox  River,  and  Dixon,  on  Rock  River,  and 
struck  the  Mississippi  at  Savannah.  The  distance,  by 
the  way  we  went,  was  about  200  miles,  and  we  did  it  in 
about  five  days,  the  roads  being  good  at  the  time.  The 
country  between  Chicago  and  the  great  river  had  few  set- 
tlers, and  we  drove  over  the  prairies  many  hours  at  a 
time  without  seeing  a  house  or  a  human  being.  Early 
travelers  were  always  impressed  with  the  likeness  of 
these  immense  grassy  plains  dotted  with  groves,  to  the 
ocean  with  its  islands — the  horizon  extending  to  the  sky- 
line, and  the  surface  of  tall  grass  waving  in  the  wind  like 
the  gentle  ripple  of  the  summer  sea.  Like  the  ocean^  the 
prairie  was  then  pathless,  and  we  steered  due  west,  like 
an  ocean  steamer  bound  across  the  Atlantic  to  America. 
Game  was  abundant;  every  creek  and  slough  had  its 
ducks;  the  prairie  fowl  ran  along  the  roadside,  and  the 
deer  bounded  through  the  thickets.  The  Doctor  killed 
birds  enough  every  day  to  feed  us,  and  we  had  them 
cooked  at  the  log  cabins  at  the  roadside  where  we 
stopped. 

We  reached  Savannah  toward  noon  on  the  fifth  day. 
There  was  a  ferry,  but  the  ferryman  was  absent,  and  his 
cabin  was  closed,  and  there  was  no  other  habitation  in 
sight.  We  waited  some  time,  and  then  the  Doctor  entered 
the  cabin  through  the  window,  and  opened  the  door.  We 
were  hungry,  and  looking  for  something  to  eat,  found  a 
pot  with  a  venison  stew,  and  some  corn-bread,  of  which 
we  began  to  eat,  when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a 
tall,  muscular  figure,  with  a  blackened  face,  entered — a 
formidable  fellow,  who  seemed  able  to  throw  the  intruders 
into  the  river.  Although  he  must  have  been  surprised  to 
see  his  property  in  the  hands  of  strangers,  he  showed  it 
not,  but  accosted  us  with  civility,  and  when  we  hastened 
to  apologize  for  our  freedom,  he  made  us  welcome, 


WESTERN   FIELD   SPORTS    IX   EARLY   DAYS.  269 

showing  a  natural  politeness  which  was  very  pleasant. 
He  was  a  charcoal-burner  as  well  as  ferryman,  which 
accounted  for  the  blackness  of  his  countenance.  The 
ferry-boat  being  on  the  other  bank,  he  took  us  across  in 
a  dug-out.  The  river  being  high,  with  a  heavy  current, 
and  about  a  mile  wide,  the  passage  seemed  rather  peril- 
ous. He  called  an  assistant,  and  went  over  with  the  flat- 
boat  for  our  wagon  and  horses. 

We  were  in  Jackson  County,  Iowa,  which  territory 
was  settled  only  about  thirty  miles  west  of  the  river, 
and  that  sparsely.  We  found  shelter  in  a  log  cabin  that 
night,  and  in  the  morning  we  went  west  to  look  for  the 
claim  of  two  Chicago  men,  who  had  gone  there  a  year 
before,  and  who  had  invited  us  to  visit  them.  At  noon, 
we  stopped  at  the  cabin  of  an  old  patriarch  lately  arrived 
from  Illinois,  with  wife,  sons,  daughters,  sons-in-law, 
and  grandchildren — a  dozen  or  more — not  one  of  them 
with  a  shoe  or  a  hat,  and  with  nothing  in  the  house  to 
eat  except  boiled  corn  and  venison;  but  they  all  seemed 
happy  and  contented,  and  gave  us  of  what  they  had. 
The  old  man  was  one  of  the  pioneers;  he  had  moved 
first  from  Ohio  to  Illinois,  and  when  that  State  became 
too  thickly  settled  to  suit  him,  he  came  to  Iowa.  While 
we  were  there,  one  of  the  daughters  had  a  fit,  and  Doctor 

T ,  with  his  pocket-knife,  opened  a  vein  and  relieved 

her. 

From  the  cabin  of  this  philosopher  of  the  wilderness, 
we  traveled  a  few  hours,  until  we  found  our  friends' 
place,  which  was  also  a  lodge  in  a  vast  wilderness.  There 
we  staid  two  days  while  our  friends  were  organizing  a 
hunting-party.  This  was  hard  on  the  lady  of  the  house, 
who  had  to  do  the  house- work,  servants  not  being 
obtainable. 

On  the  third  day  we  started — our  hosts,  two  neighbors, 
the  Doctor,  and  myself — in  two  wagons,  with  camp  equi- 


270  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

page,  guns,  and  dogs.  We  traveled  through  a  wild  coun- 
try to  a  region  seventy-five  miles  west  of  the  river, 
known  as  the  "neutral  ground,''  lying  between  the  land 
of  the  Sacs  and  the  Foxes  and  the  white  settlements;  in 
this  territory  the  Indians  did  not  hunt,  and  it  was  there- 
fore supposed  that  game  would  be  plentiful.  Here  we 
encamped,  near  the  head- waters  of  the  Wapsipinicon, 
for  a  week,  but  did  not  find  game  as  plentiful  as  we 
expected;  six  deer  and  an  elk  were  killed,  but  no 
turkeys.  Wolves  were  numerous,  and  howled  about  our 
camp  at  night,  making  it  hideous;  and  one  of  the  party, 
returning  to  camp  after  dark,  was  followed  by  a  pack  of 
the  big  timber  wolves,  who  seemed  eager  to  make  him 
their  meat. 

We  had  heard  that  the  Sac  and  Pox  Indians,  who 
had  been  expelled  from  Illinois  a  few  years  before,  were 
unfriendly  to  the  whites,  and  had  robbed  and  ill-treated 
some  hunters  whom  they  had  found  hunting  on  their 
grounds.  One  day,  when  I  was  left  alone  in  camp,  two 
well-mounted  and  armed  Indians  rode  up  and  dis- 
mounted. Our  dog  fled  to  me,  howling  with  fear,  and  I 
felt  similar  sensations;  but  I  had  always  been  told  by 
the  pioneers  that  you  must  never  let  an  Indian  know  that 
you  fear  him,  so  I  pretended  unconcern,  and  went  on 
with  my  cooking,  and  when  they  entered  the  tent  I 
greeted  them  in  a  friendly  way,  as  if  I  was  expecting 
them  to  dinner.  They  were  big  fellows,  but  did  not  seem 
unfriendly;  asked  first  for  whisky,  by  signs,  speaking 
no  English,  and  by  signs  I  told  them  I  had  none.  I 
asked  them  to  eat  some  venison  stew,  which  they  did 
with  an  appetite,  doing  justice  to  my  cookery.  While 
they  were  eating,  I  made  up  my  jnind  that,  if  attacked,  I 
would  shoot  one  of  them  with  a  pocket  pistol  which  I 
had  ready  to  use.  In  the  tent  stood  a  double-barreled 
gun,  on  which  they  had  their  eyes,  and  one  inquired  (still 


WESTERN   FIELD   SPORTS   IX   EARLY   DAYS. 


271 


by  signs)  how  many  were  in  our  party,  and  where  they 
were.  I  held  up  both  hands  to  signify  ten,  and  pointed 
to  the  woods.  Then  one  of  them  moved  toward  the  gun 
as  if  to  take  it,  but  I  stepped  before  him  and  shook 
my  head.  Then  they  laughed,  shook  hands  with  me, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  rode  away,  greatly  to  my 
relief. 

Next  day  we  broke  camp  and  returned  home,  the 
Iowa  men  thinking  these  Indians  were  spies,  and  that 
they  might  return  with  a  large  party  and  drive  us  away. 

Traveling  over  the  prairies  of  Iowa,  we  often  met  with 
scattered  skulls  and  bones  of  the  buffalo,  which  could 
not  have  long  disappeared  from  that  region;  and  on  a 
high  bluff  on  the  Rock  River,  in  Illinois,  the  remains  of  a 
chief  of .  the  Sacs  was  still  to  be  seen  in  a  tree-top, 
wrapped  in  his  blanket,  after  the  manner  of  sepulture 
used  by  those  Indians. 


FIELD  ETIQUETTE. 


BY  F.  E.  POND  ("  WILL  WILDWOOD"), 

Author  of  "Memoirs  of  Eminent  Sportsmen,"  "The  Greenwood  Club,"  Etc. 


ethics  of  field  sports  must  be 
(regarded,  to  some  extent,  as  an 
unwritten  code,  recognized  and 
appreciated  by  perhaps  a  majority 
of  those  who  use  the  gun  for  recre- 
*"  »  ation,  yet  strictly  put  in  practice  by  only 
a  minority  of  the  vast  legions  claiming  fellow- 
ship in  the  fraternity.  Multitudes  of  men  become  to  a 
degree  proficient  in  the  use  of  the  gun,  either  for  glory  or 
gain,  but  the  true  knight  of  the  trigger  possesses  chivalry 
and  courtesy,  an  inherent  and  ever-abiding  love  of  fair 
play,  and  his  code  of  ethics  may  be  considered  the 
promptings  of  his  nature,  not  an  acquired  formula  to  be 
put  on  with  his  shooting-suit,  and  laid  aside  as  readily. 
Field  etiquette,  in  short,  may  be  defined  as  the  spirit 
of  courtesy  that  springs  into  action  spontaneously,  as  the 
outcome  of  kindred  tastes — the  genial,  generous  feeling 
of  fraternity  and  good-fellowship.  The  genuine  sports- 
man, like  the  poet,  is  born,  not  made.  Wealth  and  rank 
and  education  will  give  greater  opportunities  for  the 
indulgence  of  a  natural  taste  for  field  sports,  but  neither  of 
these,  nor  all  combined,  can  impart  the  essential  qualities 
we  have  briefly  outlined.  The  unlettered  woodsman, 
skilled  in  nothing  except  the  gentle  science  of  woodcraft, 
may  show  finer  perceptions  of  the  ethics  of  field  sports 

18  (273) 


274  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

than  the  wealthy  sportsman  who  has  grown  cold  and 
callous  in  pursuit  of  the  almighty  dollar.  That  doughty 
old  highland  chieftain,  Roderick  Dim,  in  entertaining  his 
royal  adversary,  Fitz  James,  evinced  the  true  spirit  of 
courtesy  when 

"  fie  gave  him  of  his  highland  cheer, 
The  hardened  flesh  of  mountain  deer." 

Considering  the  time  and  circumstance  and  surround- 
ings, the  rude  feast  thus  provided  was  a  truer  test  of 
hospitality  than  many  a  banquet  of  rarest  viands. 

Inasmuch  as  the  ethics  of  sportsmanship  can  not  be 
practically  learned  from  books,  or  even  imparted  by  pre- 
cept, it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  lay  down  the  rules 
that  should  govern  the  shooter's  conduct  when  afield. 
The  task,  at  best,  so  far  as  it  could  be  theoretically  per- 
formed, would  require  the  tact  of  a  Chesterfield,  with 
more  space  at  command  than  can  be  accorded  in  a  single 
chapter.  In  lieu,  therefore,  of  a  set  formula,  it  will  be 
safer  to  touch  upon  a  few  of  the  negative  qualities — often 
unconsciously  developed,  or,  at  least,  exercised  without 
restraint. 

In  the  field  with  genial  companions — and  no  others 
need  be  considered — one  should  lay  aside  the  selfishness 
associated  with  business  life,  and  assume  the  nobler 
attributes  of  his  nature.  Let  him  lock  the  spirit  of  avarice 
in  his  office  safe,  within  the  deepest  receptacle,  and  if  he 
can  forget  the  combination  to  reach  and  resurrect  it,  so 
much  the  better.  At  all  events,  let  him  show  as  little 
of  avarice  and  as  much  of  kindliness  as  possible.  He 
whose  greed  can  not  be  held  in  check,  should  be  content  to 
take  solitary  rambles  with  dog  and  gun.  Possibly  the 
bountiful  character  of  Dame  Nature  may  subdue  his 
selfishness,  open  his  heart  and  hand,  and  teach  him  the 
true  philosophy  of  out-door  recreation — its  social  and 
moral  requirements. 


FIELD    ETIQUETTE.  275 

Until  this  lesson  has  been  thoroughly  learned,  his 
society  will  not  be  eagerly  sought,  and  he  may  remain 
aloof  from  select  parties  of  sporting  tourists  with  full 
confidence  that  he  never  will  be  missed.  That  gifted 
writer  and  well-known  authority,  "Gloan,"  touches  upon 
some  of  the  principal  points  under  consideration  in  his 
admirable  work,  ' '  The  Breech-loader, ' '  thus :  "To  evince 
disregard — even  the  slightest — for  the  possible  safety  of 
others,  is  something  more  than  a  mere  solecism  in  man- 
ners. Therefore,  no  man  should  infringe  the  rules  of  the 
field  as  to  carrying  his  gun,  or  as  to  pointing  it  or  shooting 
it  in  the  direction  of  another.  The  caps  of  a  muzzle-loader 
should  always  be  removed  upon  entering  a  dwelling,  riding 
in  a  conveyance,  and  whenever  not  actually  in  the  field ;  and 
more  than  that,  the  fulminating  powder  should  be  care- 
fully brushed  from  the  nipple.  The  cartridge  of  the  gun 
should  always  be  taken  out  of  the  gun  on  such  occasions. 
Abandon  any  shooter  who  refuses  to  do  either! 

"To  give  a  younger  or  less  successful  man  the  choice 
and  majority  of  shots  in  a  day,  should  be  the  rule  of 
courtesy;  for  even  between  experienced  and  equal  shots, 
sometimes  the  luck  will  all  run  to  one  gun,  and  no  shift 
in  position  or  change  of  locality  will  alter  it.  Generosity 
then  becomes  a  duty. " 

' '  The  field  is  the  touchstone  of  the  man.  A  gentleman 
— he  who  claims  the  title  by  his  even  nature,  his  thought- 
fulness  for  friends  and  others,  his  self-respect,  and,  when 
necessary,  self-sacrifice,  his  forbearance,  his  politeness, 
in  deed  as  well  as  word — will  find  the  opportunities 
greater  to  show  his  qualities  brighter  in  the  field  than  in 
the  parlor. 

"  To  the  man  of  business  cares  and  toils,  the  field 
should  be  an  occasion  of  self-improvement  as  well  as 
relaxation.  While  he  is  in  the  world  of  strife,  making 
his  race  for  wealth  and  fame  and  power,  he  may  excuse 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

to  himself  his  selfish  habits  upon  worldy  reasons.  He 
may  button  up  the  nobler  impulses  of  his  nature  in  his 
breeches  pocket.  He  may  grasp  whatever  gain  his  busi- 
ness brings,  and  call  it  thrift.  But  when  in  the  field,  let 
him  put  away  his  grosser  self  and  resume  his  better  attri- 
butes. Let  him  be  joyous  in  the  health  and  liberty  it 
brings;  Jet  his  joyousness  make  him  a  coveted  companion, 
an  amiable  friend,  a  truer  man,  bringing  sunshine  and 
gladness  to  those  about  him,  inducing  them  to  emulate 
his  example  and  imitate  his  virtues." 

"Veteran!  remember  the  days  when  you  were  young. 
Not  always  were  you  the  dead  shot  which  you  now  are. 
It  was  not  in  a  day  or  a  year  that  you  learned  all  of  that 
lore  of  the  chase  and  matured  that  judgment  of  which 
you  are  now  so  proud.  Not  without  many  a  timely  hint 
and  friendly  word,  did  you  accumulate  those  stratagems 
and  resources  which  render  you  now  so  successful  and 
expert.  This  young  man  hangs  upon  your  every  word. 
Be  his  friend  indeed.  If  you  are  his  instructor,  do  not 
be  his  tyrant.  His  nerves  may  be  weak,  his  actions 
awkward,  his  sight  uncertain,  and  his  bag  unfilled. 
Kindness  and  encouragement  may  bring  him  out,  but,  be 
sure  of  it,  that  derision  never  will." 

"  Be  not  a  miser  with  the  treasures  of  your  experi- 
ence. Give  them  freely  to  him  and  to  all.  Reflect  that 
when,  at  last,  you  lay  down  your  gun  to  be  taken  up 
again  in  this  world  no  more  forever,  you  will  leave  behind 
you  spirits  as  buoyant  and  sportsmen  as  ardent  as  ever 
were  before.  It  is  not  enough  that  from  the  great  fund 
of  your  field- wealth  you  shall  dole  out  parsimonious 
scraps  as  your  legacy  to  sport.  Spread  it  broadcast  and 
generously.  Give,  and  give  so  gladly  and  humanly  that 
it  shall  be  in  reality  and  literally  with  you,  more  blessed 
to  give  than  to  receive." 

Very  little  need  be  added  to  the  foregoing  well-chosen 


FIELD   ETIQUETTE.  277 

words  of  field  philosophy  from  the  pen  of  one  of  the 
brightest  and  best  sporting  authors  of  our  time.  Every 
lover  of  out-door  recreation  can  call  to  mind  the  diverse 
characteristics  of  associates  or  companions  frequently 
met  with  in  the  shooting-field.  The  two  extremes  may 
be  compared  to  positive  and  negative  forces — the  one 
type  attracting  and  the  other  repelling. 

Who  has  not  come  in  contact  with  the  would-be  oracle 
—the  pariah  of  camp  and  field?  This  specimen  of  the 
genus  homo  is  nothing  if  not  autocratic.  He  impresses 
upon  those  around  him  the  vast  extent  of  his  forest  lore, 
his  skill,  and  varied  experience  as  a  mighty  Nimrod,  and 
assumes  the  air  of  a  dictator  or  the  patronizing  tone  of  a 
superior  being.  He  may  vary  it  with  a  sarcastic  remark 
concerning  the  arms  or  appliances  of  his  associates,  their 
lack  of  judgment,  etc.,  and  setting  forth  his  dictum  as  to 
the  proper  gauge  of  guns,  utterly  unconscious  of  or  obliv- 
ious to  the  fact  that  he  is  himself  a  perfect  bore. 

Then  there  is  the  doleful  individual,  grumbling 
continually  over  ill-luck  in  the  field,  bad  weather,  and 
the  petty  annoyances  of  camp  life,  which  should  be  taken 
in  cheerful  spirit  by  all  devotees  of  out-door  sports. 
The  chronic  fault-finder  will  magnify  a  shower  into  a 
deluge  of  misfortune,  and  an  empty  game-bag,  or  even 
two  or  three  "unaccountable  misses,"  will  furnish 
material  for  a  woful  tale,  too  often  spiced  with  excla- 
mations more  forcible  than  elegant,  until  the  luckless 
shooter  spoils  the  serenity  and  general  good-will  of  his 
companions.  Such  a  man  is  almost  invariably  one  to 
shirk  all  responsibilities  in  camp,  throwing  the  entire 
burden  upon  his  comrades,  and  devoting  his  attention  to 
finding  fault  with  the  elements  and  all  animated  nature. 

From  these  characters — gunners,  perhaps,  but  not 
sportsmen — it  is  a  relief  to  turn  to  the  devotee  of  field 
sports  who  has  ever  a  kind  word  and  a  helping  hand,  a 


278  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

cheerful  nature  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  the  darkest  day, 
and  an  encouraging  tone  to  cheer  up  the  less  fortunate 
companions.  He  may  not  be  a  Croesus  or  tower  of 
strength  on  'change,  in  fact  he  may  be  but  a  modest  figure 
in  business  circles,  but  in  his  sphere  he  is,  nevertheless,  a 
jolly  good  fellow,  in  the  best  sense  of  that  much-abused 
term,  and  as  such  will  fill  a  warm  corner  in  the  hearts  and 
memories  of  his  companions.  Long  life  to  him  and  his 
kindred,  and  may  good  luck  and  good  comradeship  fall 
to  the  share  of  all  who  have  at  heart  the  inborn  spirit  of 
field  etiquette. 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS— PINNATED  GROUSE. 


BY  WILLIAM  BRUCE  LEFFINGWELL, 
Autfior  of  "  Wild  Fowl  Shooting." 


VHROUGHOUT  the  Western  States,  where 
waving  fields  of  corn  and  golden  yellow 
grain  mark  in  checkered  squares  the  varie- 
gated landscape,  where  oceans  of  prairie 
grass,  rippling  streams,  placid  ponds,  and 
tiny  forests  abound,  there  is  the  home  of 
the  prairie  chicken;  'tis  there  they  live, 
breed,  and  rear  their  young.  There  are  no 
other  birds  that  have  caused  youthful 
hearts  to  bound  in  such  exciting  rapidity 
as  these.  The  village  youth  knows  them  well,  for  their  love- 
calls,  in  the  spring-time,  when  the  grass  peeps  out  through 
the  brown  earth,  and  the  glad  sunshine  is  nursing  into 
animated  life  all  vegetable  matter,  float  in  early  morn  o'er 
the  dewy  fields  and  into  the  open  window  of  the  house, 
where,  lying  in  bed,  prone  to  sleep,  yet  knowing  he  should 
arise,  the  yawning  boy  hearkens,  and  the  musical  "boo- 
woo-woo"  reaches  his  listening  ears,  while,  in  imagina- 
tion, he  sees  his  serenader  promenading  the  green  sward, 
surrounded  by  his  attentive  consorts,  naively  admiring 
the  lofty  manner  of  their  lordly  spouse,  who  treads  with 
proud  disdain  the  grass,  while,  with  wings  curved  down 
scraping  the  ground,  tail  erect,  in  fan-like  shape,  he  bows 
his  neck  and  struts  about  as  if  he  knew  the  admiration 
he  was  causing.  A  speckled  beauty  he  is,  in  his  mottled 
dress,  and  as  he  fills  his  sacs  with  air,  the  tan  skin  swells 

(279) 


280  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

at  the  sides  of  his  neck  until,  like  huge  globes,  it  stands 
out;  the  feathers  are  erect,  or  stick  straight  from  his 
swollen  neck;  then  he  quickly  stoops,  and  running  a  few 
yards  with  agile  steps,  emits  through  his  partly  closed 
bill  the  confined  air,  and  there  bubbles  forth,  in  a  melo- 
dious note,  a  soft  "boo- woo- woo,"  until,  by  frequent 
repetitions,  the  highlands  and  the  lowlands  are  filled  with 
this  mellow  peal  of  morning  welcome.  Welcome  music 
is  this  in  the  spring-time,  for  it  brings  to  us  the  news  of 
approaching  sport  with  these  same  birds,  when  their 
young  are  strong  of  flight  and  vie  with  their  parents  in 
size. 

There  is  a  marked  similarity  between  the  male  and  the 
female  pinnated  grouse,  and  among  the  young  the  sex 
can  not  be  distinguished;  but  when  advancing  age  has 
overtaken  them,  the  bald  neck  of  orange-yellow  is  a  sure 
indication  that  the  possessor  is  of  the  sterner  sex.  The 
colors  of  the  birds  are,  one  might  say,  but  two— dark 
brown  and  a  grayish  white;  these  colors  wind  around 
their  bodies  in  graceful  wavy  lines,  and  present  a  hand- 
some appearance.  Their  forms  are  elegant  in  proportion, 
and  the  full-grown  pinnated  grouse  weighs  about  two  and 
a  half  pounds,  at  times  as  high  as  three  pounds.  They 
are  found  in  all  the  Western  States  bordering  the  Missis- 
sippi or  Missouri  slopes.  They  frequent  the  grain-fields, 
the  corn-fields,  and,  most  of  all,  they  love  the  broad 
prairies,  where  oceans  of  waving  grass  roll  and  heave  in 
apparently  endless  space. 

When  spring-time  comes,  and  Nature  asserts  herself, 
they  seek  these  spots  to  build  their  nests,  to  lay  their 
eggs,  and  to  rear  their  young.  In  selecting  a  spot  for 
this,  their  home,  they  seek  the  grassy  edges,  rank  with 
the  outgrowth  of  weeds,  bordering  some  grain- field,  the 
corn-fields,  along  creeks,  beside  ponds,  or  a  sunny  slope 
in  the  heart  of  the  broad  prairie,  where  the  parent  bird 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PINNATED   GROUSE. 


281 


can  sit  in  quiet  contentment,  full  of  confidence  in  the 
security  of  her  home;  for  her  eyes  behold  the  face  of  the 
land  for  miles  and  miles,  and  instinct  as  well  as  experi- 
ence teach  her  that  the  unbroken  prairie,  not  yet  opened 


PINNATED  GROUSE  —  Tympanuchus  Americanus. 

by  the  husbandman's  plow,  is  the  most  likely  spot  in 
which  to  incubate  and  rear  her  little  brood  free  from 
intrusion  and  danger.  She  therefore  chooses  a  place  on  the 
prairie  and  builds  her  nest,  selecting  for  its  construction 


282  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

blades  of  grass,  weeds,  and  small  twigs;  her  eggs  are  laid, 
the  number  ranging  from  eight  to  twenty,  and  she 
patiently  sits  on  her  nest  day  after  day,  hatching  her 
expected  brood.  The  eggs  are  about  the  size  of  those  of 
the  bantam  hen,  and  very  similar  in  appearance,  except 
that  the  eggs  of  the  prairie  chicken  are  yellowish  white. 
The  young  birds  are  hatched  in  May  or  June,  depend- 
ing on  the  season.  If  the  weather  is  bright,  dry,  and 
warm,  the  bird  begins  her  domestic  duties  early,  and 
brings  forth  into  the  world  her  tiny  brood;  if  the  season 
is  cold  and  rainy,  she  delays  the  days  of  her  motherhood 
until  the  season  is  further  advanced.  The  process  of 
incubation  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  domestic  fowl. 
Before  the  birds  are  hatched,  the  eggs  are  liable  to  be 
destroyed  in  many  ways — by  hawks,  owls,  skunks,  and 
foxes;  thus  by  actual  spoliation  of  the  eggs,  or  by  the 
destruction  of  the  old  bird,  the  expected  brood  is  wiped 
out  of  existence.  Many  and  many  a  bird  is  slain  on  her 
nest  by  prowling  birds  and  beasts;  but  the  greater  causes 
of  destruction  of  prairie  chickens,  before  they  are  hatched, 
are  cold  spring  rains  and  prairie  fires.  Frequently,  eggs 
are  laid  along  the  edges  of  creeks — lazy,  indolent  creeks, 
that  flow  sluggishly  within  their  -  confined  banks  until 
the  spring  rains  o'erfill  them,  when  they  rush  along, 
sweeping  with  wide  arms  over  the  valleys  and  bottom- 
lands, carrying  devastation  in  their  course.  The  water 
drives  the  birds  from  her  nest,  chills  the  eggs,  and  then 
all  is  lost;  the  bird  deserts  her  nest.  AVorse  still  than 
this  are  the  prairie  fires,  started  by  the  farmer  to  burn 
the  dried  grass  from  his  unfenced  field,  either  to  prepare 
for  his  plowing  or  to  protect  his  crops  and  buildings. 
He  starts  with  lighted  wisp  in  hand,  and  burns  an  area 
sufficient  to  guard  his  property.  Slowly,  at  first,  the  tiny 
flame  flickers  and  sparkles,  encouraged  by  the  breath  or 
fanned  by  the  hat  of  the  incendiary;  then  it  shoots  up 


PRAIRIE    CHICKENS — PIXXATED    GROUSE.  283 

in  doubtful  blaze,  and  seems  to  die  out  in  its  beginning. 
Fresh  dry  hay  is  tenderly  placed  on  the  feeble  flames,  and 
soon,  along  the  defined  line,  as  marked  with  the  plow, 
the  crackling  blaze  speeds  forward,  the  faint  blue  smoke 
ascends  in  drifting  clouds  toward  the  dome  of  heaven; 
increasing  its  volume  and  speed,  the  hesitating  flames 
wave  along,  getting  higher  and  stronger  as  the  rank  dry 
grass  is  thrust  into  its  yawning  maw,  and,  like  a  red 
demon,  it  engulfs  all  in  its  path.  Feeble  at  first,  it 
now  advances  with  the  confident  rush  of  successful  hosts, 
its  hot  breath  withering  and  scorching  to  death  all  within 
its  reach;  the  trembling  flames  have  overcome  their  hesi- 
tancy, and  wave  and  roll  in  huge  billows  of  seething  fire, 
while  flickering  yellow  tongues  flash  and  strive  to  reach 
the  very  sky.  Now  the  whole  earth  is  a  living  fire,  while 
the  pure  air  is  contaminated  with  the  blackening  smoke, 
and  beneath  its  reddened  edges,  whirled  up  by  the  strong 
draught  of  the  advancing  fire,  blades  of  corn-stalks  spin 
in  eddying  flights,  ,and  fall  again  in  spiral  quiverings  into 
the  seething  bed.  Up  from  their  prairie  homes  the  birds 
rise  in  dire  alarm,  and  with  shrieks  and  cries  circle  in  air, 
and  with  pinioned  wings  and  accelerated  flight  seek  a 
place  of  safety.  The  prairie  chicken  in  her  hidden  nest 
scents  the  tainted  air;  then,  peering  through  the  bladed 
grass,  she  sees  the  leaden  smoke  ascending  to  the  blue 
sky;  soon  the  crackling  flames  and  the  hot  air  frighten 
her,  and  seem  to  rob  her  of  her  breath.  Closer  she  hugs 
the  parching  ground;  in  dire  alarm  she  looks  around,  and 
then,  with  frightened  cluck,  springs  from  her  bed,  and, 
with  bristling  feathers,  runs  threateningly  toward  the 
advancing  flame,  which  smokes  and  roars,  mocking  at 
her  feebleness.  Disheartened,  she  runs  again  to  her 
sacred  nest,  and  nestling  closer  with  her  protecting 
wings,  shielding  her  all,  closes  her  eyes  to  perish  with 
her  charge;  but  the  stifling  smoke  suffocates  her,  and  with- 


284  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

out  thought  she  instinctively  springs  upward,  her  wings 
scorched  by  her  cruel  enemy,  and  soon  breathes  again 
the  pure  air  of  the  open  field.  A  grand  sight  is  a  prairie 
fire,  but  woe  be  unto  man  or  quadruped  who  is  caught 
unaware  in  its  relentless  path;  for,  urged  by  a  strong 
wind,  a  wind  that  increases  in  strength  and  volume,  in  its 
flight  the  speediest  animal  soon  submits,  and  the 
blackened  path,  the  sooty  ground,  the  sickening  odor  of 
burning  flesh,  sadly  tells  the  story  of  life  and  death. 

If  driven  from  her  nest,  the  prairie  chicken  builds 
again  in  some  other  place  her  destroyed  home,  and  pro- 
duces another  brood. 

The  mother  bird  is  thoughtful  and  solicitous  for  the 
welfare  of  her  little  ones,  and,  in  her  anxiety  to  protect 
and  shield  them  from  harm,  will  resort  to  various  sub- 
terfuges. Counterfeiting  a  broken  wing,  she  will  run 
before  her  human  enemy,  then  fly  a  short  distance,  seem- 
ing all  the  while  in  dire  distress,  merely  to  divert  attention 
from  her  brood,  while  they,  dear  little  things,  sometimes 
not  larger  than  a  sparrow,  will  quietly  and  quickly  run 
away,  each  one  for  itself,  and  seem  to  disappear  by 
magical  illusion,  for  we  look  where  we  saw  them  last, 
but  can  not  find  them.  Still,  I  have  often  caught  them. 
The  power  of  flight  is  given  them  at  an  early  age,  and  when 
the  old  ones  arise,  with  a  loud  whir,  these  little  ones  fly  up, 
their  diminutive  bodies  looking  about  as  large  as  a  half- 
grown  quail,  scatter  at  once,  and  after  a  short  flight,  drop 
softly  into  the  prairie  grass,  where,  remaining  concealed, 
they  await  the  expected  call,  the  anticipated  cluck  of 
their  solicitous  mother. 

How  long  prairie  chickens  can  survive  without  water, 
is  an  undecided  question;  certain  am  I  that  the  period  is 
beyond  one' s  expectations.  It  is  true  they  are  frequently 
found  in  the  rank  grass  and  weeds  of  prairie  ponds,  and 
along  the  thick  growth  of  furze  at  the  edges  of  creeks, 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PINNATED   GROUSE.  285 

adjacent  to  stubble-fields,  but  in  time  of  drought  they 
do  not  seem  to  change  their  habitation,  for  in  the  early 
morning,  when  the  dew  is  on  the  meadow,  and  the  leaf- 
lets are  freshened  with  its  pearly  drops,  the  birds  wander 
through  these  elysian  fields,  and  archly  pick  them  from 
the  glistening  blades  of  grass.  At  such  times,  refreshed 
with  the  water  they  find  in  their  cooling  retreats,  they 
are  prepared  for  the  day's  siege  of  heat.  I  have  often 
seen  them  drinking  in  creeks  and  at  the  edges  of  marshy 
ponds,  but  they  are  an  upland  bird,  and  while  they  must 
have  water  for  sustenance,  the  same  as  all  animated  life, 
yet  they  require  little  of  it,  and  that  not  frequently. 

The  male  grouse  is  a  polygamous  old  rooster,  and 
his  vanity  is  equal  to  his  handsome  appearance.  In 
the  spring-time,  when  the  hens  gather  together  in 
flocks,  and  mildly  associate  together,  the  lordly  old  chaps 
strut  around,  their  air- sacs  filled  with  wind,  their  minds 
with  conceit,  and  they  try  in  different  methods  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  gentler  sex,  that  they  may  entice  one 
more  into  their  harem.  Early  in  the  morning,  their  flow- 
ing ' '  boo-woo-woo ' '  is  wafted  over  the  awakening  fields, 
and  these  old  cocks  promenade  up  and  down,  longing  for 
some  ambitious  rival  to  throw  down  the  gage  of  battle 
and  meet  him  in  fierce  contest.  They  don't  have  to  wait 
long,  for  soon  one  equal  in  valor  runs  toward  the  boom- 
ing bird;  they  eye  one  another  with  fierce  hate;  then,  as 
if  to  tell  the  other  birds  of  the  many  victories  he  has 
won,-  the  bird  who  first  held  the  citadel  swells  out  in 
conscious  pride,  and  his  orange-colored  neck  expands 
until  it  seems  as  if  the  sacs  would  burst,  and  running 
quickly  along,  he  emits  a  "boo-woo-woo,"  prolonging  the 
last  note  until  its  echoes,  wafted  on  the  morning  wind, 
can  be  heard  for  miles,  when  it  dies  out  in  sweet,  mourn- 
ful cadence.  The  new  arrival  goes  through  the  same 
performance — utters  the  same  cries;  then  they  warily 


286  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

approach  each  other,  watching  to  discover  some  weak 
point  of  attack,  then  dash  together  with  great  violence, 
their  feathers  upright  or  reversed,  and  they  advance  and 
retreat,  their  fighting  being  similar  to  that  of  tame  roosters, 
until  at  last  one  is  defeated,  and  runs  away  crestfallen, 
while  the  victor  marches  over  with  majestic  mien  to  the 
coterie  of  admiring  hens,  who  accept  him  as  their  lord 
and  master. 

While  the  spring-time  is  one  of  so  much  moment  to 
the  hens,  and  they  build  their  nests  preparatory  to  hatch- 
ing out  their  young,  these  old  roosters  are  either  too 
proud  or  lazy  to  work;  possibly  they  think  the  females 
are  born  to  work,  like  the  Indian  who  said:  "Buck  no 
like  work;  squaw  do  all  work.  Buck  get  tired;  squaw 
no  get  tired.  If  squaw  get  tired,  squaw  die;  then  Buck 
get  young  squaw,  who  no  get  tired,  but  do  heap  work." 
The  cock  grouse  do  not  help  build  the  nest,  neither  do 
they  aid  in  hatching  or  rearing  the  young;  but  while  the 
hens  are  performing  these  maternal  pleasures  and  duties, 
these  old  roosters  wander  around,  leading  a  lonesome  life, 
in  groups  or  flocks,  quarreling  and  fighting;  about  the 
only  good  thing  that  can  be  said  of  them  at  this  time  is, 
that  they  stay  home  nights.  The  food  of  the  prairie 
chicken  consists  of  seeds,  beans,  peas,  grasshoppers, 
insects,  and  all  kinds  of  grain.  While  they  are  found  in 
great  abundance  in  the  prairie  States,  throughout  the  fields 
of  prairie  grass,  yet  they  like  best  the  partially  settled 
lands,  for  there  they  find  food  in  plenty  and  of  great 
variety.  When  they  are  young,  they  are  especially  fond 
of  grasshoppers,  which  they  are  expert  in  catching. 
They  grow  rapidly,  the  strength  of  their  bodies  seemingly 
exceeding  that  of  their  wings,  for  they  soon  tire  of  flight 
•when  young,  and  fly  but  a  short  distance.  About  August 
1st  they  are  two-thirds  grown,  and  are  the  easiest  bird  to 
hit  that  flies;  they  will  then  lie  well  to  the  dogs,  dislike 


PRAIRIE    CHICKENS— PINNATED    GROUSE.  287 

to  use  their  wings,  and  to  avoid  discovery  trust,  instead, 
to  their  skill  in  hiding.  When,  at  last,  they  feel  the  hot 
breath  of  the  pointer  or  setter,  and  see  his  staring  eyes, 
they  spring  up  with  a  loud  whir  but  a  few  paces  from 
the  shooter,  and  become  an  easy  victim  to  his  aim.  Early 
in  the  season,  they  are  so  easy  to  approach  that  it  is 
nothing  unusual  to  wipe  out  the  whole  covey;  for,  after 
rising,  they  will  settle  in  the  grass  or  rank,  weedy  stub- 
ble, spring  up  singly,  and  then  the  hunter  bags  them  all. 
They  do  not  fear  civilization;  on  the  contrary,  rather 
enjoy  it.  They  are  hardy  birds,  and  survive  our  severest 
winters.  Were  they  protected,  they  would  nest  and  rear 
their  young  in  the  grass  and  grain-fields  within  sight  and 
hearing  of  our  smaller  cities.  Their  roosting-places  in 
the  summer-time  are  in  the  grass  and  stubble-fields,  and 
in  the  winter,  when  the  wind  blows  bleak  and  raw,  and 
the  drifting  snow  fills  all  the  crevices  of  the  field,  they  go 
into  the  corn-fields  or  the  heavy  grass,  or  roost  in  the 
trees  at  the  edges  of  some  sheltered  grove.  I  have  often 
seen  them  in  trees  in  winter,  and  at  such  a  time  it  is 
impossible  to  bag  them,  except  an  occasional  one  with  a 
rifle,  for  they  are  exceedingly  watchful,  and  can  not  be 
approached  near  enough  to  shoot  with  a  shot-gun.  As 
they  are  accustomed  to  see  farmers  pass  along  with 
wagons  or  sleighs,  the  sight  of  such  conveyances  does 
not  alarm  them,  and  if  the  hunter  is  with  such  a  rig, 
he  can  at  times  obtain  shots;  but  these  old  birds  are 
extremely  wary,  and  a  successful  shot  is  more  the  result 
of  accident  than  the  evidence  of  skill.  Prairie  chickens 
must  be  hunted  with  a  dog;  no  other  method  can  prove 
successful.  The  dog  employed  must  possess  three  requi- 
sites— speed,  staunchness,  and  endurance.  The  breed  of 
dogs  combining  these  qualities  to  the  greatest  extent  is 
the  one  most  to  be  desired,  and  in  selecting  a  dog  for  this 
special  branch  of  sport,  one  must  not  allow  his  love  of 


288  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

beauty,  or  his  admiration  of  well-known  sterling  qualities 
in  a  certain  breed  of  dogs,  to  influence  his  choice.  To  me, 
the  most  beautiful  dog  that  ever  skimmed  the  field  is 
the  setter,  English,  Irish,  or  Gordon,  as  the  case  may  be; 
there  is  a  dash  and  vim  to  be  seen  in  the  actions  of  these 
dogs  that  causes  my  heart  to  beat  with  delight.  In  the 
autumnal  September  days,  I  have  so  often  seen  them  skirt 
the  plain  after  pinnated  grouse,  or  silently  and  grandly 
working  among  the  bogs  and  fences  for  that  grayish  imp, 
jacksnipe,  which,  like  a  flash,  streaks  the  dead-brown 
grass  in  his  eccentric  flight,  only  to  be  quickly  brought 
down  by  a  shot  from  our  guns,  while  there  dies  in  its 
white  throat  that  enervating  "scaipe,  scaipe." 

In  the  russet  woodland,  the  drumming  ruffed  grouse 
lives  among  his  kind,  and  thrills  us  through  and  through 
with  startled  expectancy  when  he  springs  from  behind 
the  old  decayed  log,  and  darts  through  the  thickly 
branched  trees.  After  long  years,  still  fresh  and  green 
is  the  memory  of  the  summer-time  in  the  dear  old  island, 
where  my  early  love,  the  saucy  woodcock,  made  his  home 
among  the  alders,  willows,  and  brakes;  of  the  placid 
pond  with  its  silvery  sheen,  the  trembling  leaves  of  the 
aspen,  the  delicate,  sensuous  perfume  of  the  pond  lilies, 
and  before  me,  in  grand  rigi  lity,  my  companion,  my 
protector,  my  faithful  Felo,  in  his  glossy  silken  coat, 
pointing  out  this  nocturnal  bird;  the  whistling  cock  just 
about  to  dart  from  the  nearest  tree,  the  deep  report,  the 
drifting  feathers,  and  then,  at  my  feet,  with  deep-brown 
eyes  looking  with  undying  love  into  mine,  my  faithful  set- 
ter handing  me  our  bird,  and  the  golden  bars  of  sunlight, 
symbolic  of  the  brightness  of  my  young  life,  streaming 
down  through  the  quivering  leaves.  And  then  a  few 
months  later,  in  the  golden  autumn,  in  October,  when 
the  grass  was  brown  and  sere,  crisp  with  the  brilliant 
coating  of  frost,  and  the  purple  wild  grapes  vied  in 


PRAIRIE    CHICK  EXS — PIXXATED    GROUSE.  289 

beauty  with  the  maple-leaves  and  the  changing  color  of 
the  sumac,  how  often  have  Felo  and  I  stood  together  in 
the  cold,  bleak  marsh,  when  the  leaden  clouds  skurried 
athwart  the  skies,  and  the  north  wind  swerved  within 
gunshot  for  us,  the  noble  mallard,  the  plunging  red- 
head, the  swishing  blue-bill,  or  the  dainty  teal;  Felo 
then,  his  sparkling  eyes  first  sighting  the  game,  would 
beam  on  me  in  mute  appeal,  fearing  lest  I  might  not  see 
the  incoming  birds;  or,  perhaps,  startled  by  that  well- 
known  cry,  the  grating  "  me-amph,"  I  would  glance  o'er 
head  and  see  a  young  drake  climbing  in  air,  his  red  feet 
extended,  his  neck  curved,  glorious  to  my  youthful  eyes 
in  all  his  gorgeous  dress  of  velvet-green,  chestnut,  and 
white.  Sweet  are  the  recollections  of  those  childhood 
days,  those  days  of  blessed  memory!  When  the  threads 
of  time  in  their  silvery  strands  streak  our  hair,  those 
early  days  return  to  us  with  realistic  vividness,  and  in 
dreamy  retrospection  we  live  again  our  Heaven  on  earth. 
Now,  when  for  hunting  prairie  chickens  I  advocate 
the  use  of  a  dog  other  than  the  setter,  let  not  the  lover  of 
that  breed  say  I  am  prejudiced,  do  not  know  them,  or  do 
not  like  them,  for  I  do  know  tTiem  and  like  them.  Aye! 
a  noble  race  of  dogs  are  they,  to  the  hunter's  heart  the 
noblest  of  them  all,  and  when,  in  the  selection  of  a 
dog  for  prairie  chicken  hunting,  I  choose  the  pointer,  it 
is  not  that  I  forget  the  good  qualities  of  the  setter,  but 
because  the  setter  can  not  stand  the  heat  of  our  August 
sun  as  can  the  pointer.  I  have  owned  them  both,  hunted 
them  side  by  side,  season  after  season,  and  am  speaking 
not  unadvisedly,  but  after  the  results  of  years  of  practical 
experience.  I  shall  not  treat  of  the  way  in  which  a  dog 
should  be  trained  to  hunt  prairie  chickens,  for  other  gen- 
tlemen, in  this  book,  have  written  of  the  manner  of  break- 
ing them  for  other  upland  game  birds,  and  the  dog  that 
is  thoroughly  broken  to  hunt  quail,  woodcock,  ruffed 

* 


290  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

grouse,  and  snipe  will,  with  a  trifling  experience,  become 
proficient  in  the  pursuit  of  prairie  chickens.  The  three 
requisites  heretofore  mentioned — speed,  staunchness,  and 
endurance — are  the  golden  virtues  which,  when  possessed 
by  and  found  in  a  dog,  make  him  perfect  for  this  branch 
of  sport.  There  is  no  sport  where  greater  freedom  can 
and  must  be  allowed  the  dog  than  this. 

On  our  Western  prairies,  the  range  is,  one  might  say, 
unlimited;  there  are  places  where  for  miles  and  miles  the 
soil  is  unbroken  and  unfenced,  and  where  the  wild  grass 
grows  in  thickest  profusion,  the  monotony  of  the  waving 
fields  being  broken  here  and  there  by  the  brown  stubbles 
of  grain  or  the  yellow  corn-fields;  the  territory  is  appar- 
ently endless,  for  the  eye  follows  the  grass  until  the  blue 
sky  seems  to  sink  down  and  meet  it,  while  the  drifting 
white  clouds  float  on  its  very  tips.  In  such  a  place  as 
this,  the  hunters  drive  along  in  their  wagons,  getting  out 
to  shoot  when  the  birds  are  found.  Away  speed  the  dogs, 
the  young  with  impetuous  bounds,  the  older  ones  with 
that  long,  swinging  lope  which  tells  us  of  the  reserved 
strength,  to  be  tested  in  a  few  hours,  when  to  the  piercing 
rays  of  the  summer  sun  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  parched 
earth  must  succumb.  The  dogs  should  be  worked  by 
hand,  for  the  length  and  breadth  of  their  range  preclude 
the  thought  of  directing  them  by  voice.  With  heads 
high  in  air  and  tails  beating  their  sturdy  sides,  they  go 
ahead,  then  cross  and  recross,  beating  back  and  forth  in 
their  several  journeys,  covering  every  point  that  seems 
favorable  for  hiding  the  secreted  birds;  then,  in  the  midst 
of  their  rapid  run,  a  faint  scent  is  wTafted  to  them  in 
delicate  indistinctness,  but  it  suffices  for  their  experience^ 
nose,  and,  quick  as  thought,  the  bounding  machines  of 
life  are  checked  and  transformed  to  motionless  figures  as 
rigid  as  steel.  And  now  is  the  time  to  test  their  staunch- 
ness, for  the  hunters  are  perhaps  a  quarter,  perhaps  half 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PINNATED   GROUSE.  291 

a  mile  away,  urging  their  horses  forward  on  a  smart  trot 
through  the  noiseless  grass;  but  the  dog  pays  no  atten- 
tion to  them;  like  a  carved  image  he  stands,  his  eyes 
staring  into  the  apparently  deserted  grass,  his  ears  bent 
a  little  forward,  as  if  hoping  to  hear  what  he  smells,  but 
can  not  see;  his  left  fore  foot  raised,  its  ball  pressing 
against  his  heart  as  if  to  stop  its  excited  throbbing;  his 
tail  standing  parallel  with  his  body,  his  legs  braced,  lest 
some  power  from  behind  may  thrust  him  forward  and 
break  the  charm  which  is  the  delight  of  his  life.  Back 
of  him,  a  little  at  one  side:  perhaps  fifty  yards,  his  com- 
panion comes  toward  him  as  if  borne  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind;  he  hears  nothing,  smells  nothing,  but  suddenly  his 
bright  eye  sees  the  entranced  form  of  his  comrade,  and  he, 
too,  is  transformed  into  a  living  monument,  and  having 
supreme  confidence  in  the  ability  of  his  companion  to 
know  what  lies  concealed  in  the  brown  grass,  he  stands 
staunchly,  awaiting  developments.  The  hunters  have 
arrived,  birds  are  flushed;  ''crack!"  "crack!"  rings  out 
on  the  still  air,  and  the  charm  is  broken  for  the  dogs,  to 
be  renewed  time  and  again  throughout  the  day. 

In  the  selection  of  a  gun  for  the  purpose  of  shooting 
prairie  chickens,  care  must  be  taken  to  choose  such  a  one  as 
will  best  fulfill  all  the  requirements  for  which  it  is  intended. 
At  the  present  day,  the  gauges  used  are  from  twenty  to 
ten  bore,  but  the  standard  gauges,  that  is,  the  ones  mostly 
used,  are  twelve  and  ten.  These  sizes  are  used  because 
they  meet  the  demands  for  all  kinds  of  game,  as  well  as 
trap-shooting.  Early  in  the  season,  the  shooting  of  prairie 
chickens  is  not  difficult;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  extremely 
easy  to  bring  them  down,  as  they  are  large  to  shoot  at, 
rise  within  easy  gunshot,  and  the  half  or  two-thirds 
youngsters  are  not  tenacious  of  life,  and  succumb  to  light 
blows  or  a  few  pellets  of  shot.  In  shooting  them  at  this 
time,  one  can  not  congratulate  himself  that  he  has 


292  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

exhibited  any  degree  of  skill,  while  he  has  cause  for 
humiliation  and  chagrin  should  he  make  many  misses. 
Unless  the  fields  are  open  and  unfenced,  hunting  prairie 
chickens  is  attended  with  much  fatigue,  for  it  is  necessary 
to  tramp  for  hours,  following  the  dogs,  and  at  a  time  when 
the  sun  is  high  in  the  heavens  and  beating  strongly  down; 
under  such  circumstances,  one  must  remember  that  the 
weight  of  the  gun  adds  to  or  detracts  from  the  pleasure  of 
the  hunt.  In  those  early  summer  days  when  the  law 
has  thrown  aside  its  protecting  shield,  and  the  hunter  is 
filled  with  ambition  to  go  afield,  he  should  be  fitted  in  his 
accoutrements,  clothing  and  gun,  so  as  to  derive  the 
greatest  enjoyment  from  his  outing.  The  gun  should  be 
light  of  weight,  not  weighing  more  than  eight  pounds, 
twelve-bore,  the  first  barrel  a  modified  choke,  the  second 
full  choke. 

It  isn't  really  necessary  to  have  a  gun  shoot  so  close 
as  full  choke,  but  the  birds  rapidly  grow  stronger,  rise 
farther  from  the  shooter,  and  it  requires  a  hard-hitting 
gun  to  bring  them  to  bag.  Early  in  the  season,  No.  8 
shot  is  the  best  size;  as  the  months  advance,  Ts,  then  6's, 
this  latter  size,  in  late  fall,  being  none  too  large.  There  is 
no  especial  skill  required  to  shoot  the  birds  in  early 
season.  They  are  apt  to  frustrate  the  beginner,  for  they 
fly  up  with  a  loud  whir,  that  will  rattle  the  tyro,  and 
cause  him  to  fire  hastily,  and  perhaps  score  a  miss.  They 
do  not  fly  fast  at  this  time,  but  when  they  spring  up  each 
bird  starts  out  for  itself,  and  if  one  is  fortunate  enough 
to  bag  two  or  more  with  one  barrel  it  is  the  result  of  acci- 
dent. The  proper  way  is  to  select  your  bird,  no  matter 
how  many  get  up;  pay  no  attention  to  the  majority  until 
you  have  first  fired  at  the  one  selected.  Don' t  be  in  a 
hurry,  and  fire  with  hasty  or  ill-judged  aim,  but  bring 
your  gun  up  coolly;  hold  just  over  the  bird's  body  if  it  is 
going  straight  away.  Don't  dwell  on  your  aim,  but  when 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PINNATED  GROUSE.  293 

you  think  you  are  right,  steadily  pull  the  trigger,  and 
the  bird  will  be  yours.  Don' t  wait  and  watch  to  see  the 
effect  of  your  shot,  but  quickly  draw  on  another,  and  let 
drive  at  it;  if  it  is  a  quartering  bird,  be  very  careful  or 
you  will  shoot  behind  it,  and  you  will  be  apt  to  do  this 
if  the  bird  is  over  twenty-five  yards  from  you.  When 
you  see  you  have  a  quarterer,  draw  in  behind  it,  cover  it, 
then  pull  in  ahead  from  one  to  three  feet,  depending  on 
the  distance  it  is  from  you.  When  a  bird  jumps  up 
almost  in  your  face,  be  very  careful  or  it  will  get  away 
from  you,  for  it  will  be  so  close  then  that,  if  you  shoot, 
your  shot  will  not  have  a  chance  to  scatter,  while  if  you 
hit,  the  bird  will  be  torn  to  pieces;  the  better  way  is,  let 
the  bird  go  over  your  head,  wheel  as  it  passes  you,  then 
fire  just  under  it,  and  a  trifle  ahead  of  its  bill,  and  it  will 
come  down.  The  flight  of  the  prairie  chicken  is  exceed- 
ingly graceful,  similar  to  that  of  the  quail  and  others  of 
the  grouse  family.  Their  wing-motion  is  made  with  the 
greatest  rapidity;  this  gives  them  propelling  force.  After 
getting  this  motion,  they  stiffen  their  wings,  and  sail, 
sometimes  100  yards,  as  true  as  an  arrow,  and  without 
the  least  preceptible  motion.  At  this  time,  they  present  a 
pretty  appearance,  for  they  are  held  up  by  their  slightly 
curved  wings,  while  one  forgets  for  the  time  the  power 
that  forced  them  to  this  great  speed.  Such  is  their  man- 
ner of  flight,  and  is  kept  up  until  they  alight.  While 
their  flight  going  with  the  wind  is  very  swift  (in  a  strong 
wind  at  a  rate  of  perhaps  100  miles  an  hour),  I  have  often 
noticed  them  flying  along  at  the  side  of  a  passenger  train, 
and  would  estimate  their  average  speed  to  be  from  thirty- 
five  to  forty-five  miles  an  hour.  When  the  season  for  shoot- 
ing prairie  chickens  has  arrived,  throughout  the  vicinity 
where  they  are  to  be  found  the  excitement  is  intense, 
and  each  hunter  has  some  favorite  place  where  he  intends 
to  be  located  at  the  break  of  day,  early  enough  to  be 


294  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

ahead  of  any  accidental  comer;  his  gun  has  had  an  extra 
cleaning,  his  traps  have  been  gathered  together,  and  his 
dog  has  been  carefully  watched  and  faithfully  guarded, 
lest  he  be  missing  on  this  eventful  morning.  Long  before 
sunrise,  the  hunters  quietly  drive  to  the  neighboring 
fields,  and  when  the  first  faint  light  shows  the  approaching 
day,  they  are  in  the  stubble-fields,  fresh  in  their  dewy 
smell  of  hay  and  clover.  Soon  it  is  light  enough  to  see  to 
shoot,  and  the  morning  air  bears  to  their  ears  the  faint 
boom  of  guns  from  the  moist  valley  they  are  in.  How 
sweet  the  morn,  when  the  air  is  fresh  and  pure,  and  fra- 
grant smells  the  field!  although  the  days  are  dry  and 
hot,  and  under  the  midday  sun  the  earth  gasps  for 
refreshment. to  moisten  its  parched  bosom.  In  this  early 
morning  hour,  the  hunter's  trail  leaves  behind  it  a  dark- 
green  path,  while  their  limbs  are  wet  with  the  heavy  dew. 
How  grandly  the  dogs  work  on  this  summer's  morn!  'Tis 
their  gala  day,  the  beginning  of  many  happy  ones  for 
them,  for  in  this  sport  they  are  never  left  at  home.  The 
fresh,  cool  air,  the  moist  stubble,  fill  the  spirit  of  the  dogs 
with  rivalry,  and  they  race  forward  at  break-neck  speed, 
until  checked  by  the  stern  command  of  their  master. 
Soon  the  birds  are  found,  and  an  old  cock  rises  just  far 
enough  away  to  tempt  the  beginner.  Cunning  old  chap, 
he  hasn't  forgotten  his  experience  of  the  previous  year. 
Don't  shoot  at  him;  let  him  go,  for  the  young  brood  must 
be  within  close  gunshot.  "Whir!  whir!"  and  each 
hunter  bags  his  bird.  No  time  for  talking  now,  for 
shells  are  hastily  slipped  in,  and  before  the  gun  is  closed 
other  birds  are  in  air;  quickly  slamming  it  together,  a 
double  is  made;  the  birds  are  gathered,  the  stray  ones 
who  feared  to  fly  are  pointed  almost  at  the  hunter' s  feet, 
and  they,  too,  are  flushed  and  bagged.  At  such  a  time  as 
this,  my  dog  has  often  pointed  them  in  little  bunches  of 
weeds  in  the  heart  of  the  stubble-fields,  and  I  have  seen 


(295) 


296  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

the  speckled  beauties  lie  there,  with  heads  drawn  down 
onto  their  bodies,  only  to  be  perceived  by  the  glitter  of 
their  eyes,  and  have  shoved  my  foot  under  them,  lifting 
them  from  the  ground,  and  it  has  oftener  happened  that, 
urged  by  my  voice,  the  dog  has  sprung  on  them  and 
caught  them,  in  the  tangled  grass  or  weeds,  before  they 
could  take  flight.  In  the  early  morning,  the  birds  should 
always  be  sought  for  in  the  stubble-fields,  for  there  they 
go  to  roost  at  night,  and  begin  their  feeding  at  break  of 
day.  If  undisturbed,  they  feed  in  the  stubble  until  8  or 
9  o'clock  in  the  morning,  then  go  to  the  corn-fields,  tall 
grass,  or  heavy  weeds,  and  remain  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon, say  about  5  o'clock,  when  they  return  again  to  the 
stubble.  In  the  stubble-field,  where  the  soil  is  light  and 
flaky,  the  birds  often  scratch  and  make  a  spot  just  large 
enough  for  them  to  wallow  in,  and  here  they  dust  and 
shake  themselves  in  the  same  manner  as  tame  chickens; 
they  frequently  dust  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  at 
times  are  seen  crossing  in  advance  of  an  approaching  team, 
when  they  run  into  the  rank  weeds  or  grass.  On  cool, 
cloudy  days,  they  often  remain  in  the  stubble-fields 
through  the  entire  day.  In  their  going  to  and  fro,  they 
do  not  resort  to  flight,  as  a  general  thing;  indeed,  seldom 
do,  but  feed  their  way  along,  enjoying  the  fallen  grain, 
and  catching  insects,  especially  grasshoppers.  The  experi- 
enced hunter  knows  these  peculiarities,  and  profits  by 
them,  and  an  old  chicken-dog  has  learned  the  same  things, 
and  when  a  stubble-field  is  reached,  if  late  in  the  morning 
or  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  dog  will  work  its  edges,  if  lead- 
ing to  a  slough  or  corn-field,  for  he  knows  the  birds  have 
wandered  to  those  retreats,  and  he  can  quickest  find  them 
by  striking  their  trail,  which  he  is  apt  to  do  at  the  places 
bordering  the  field.  As  the  birds  are  in  the  tall  slough 
grass  or  the  rank  corn-fields  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  the  dog  will  soon  tire  himself  out  in  the  grass,  while 


PRAIRIE   CIIICKEXS — PIXXATED   GROUSE.  297 

it  is  practically  impossible  to  obtain  shots  in  the  stand- 
ing corn,  the  hunter  should  be  patient,  and  not  attempt 
to  hunt  them  then,  but  go  to  some  shady  place,  provide 
his  dog  with  cooling  water,  and  patiently  wait  till  even- 
ing; then  he  will  be  refreshed  and  rested,  while  his  dog 
will  be  as  fresh  as  in  the  morning,  and  filled  with  new 
life. 

When  evening  is  approaching,  then  is  the  time  when 
the  hunter  revels  in  this  exciting  sport;  for  the  birds 
leave  the  grass  and  corn,  and  travel  back  to  the 
stubble-fields,  where  they  go  to  roost,  and  lie  better  for 
the  dog  at  this  than  any  other  time.  At  such  times  as 
these,  the  hunter  shoots  at  them  until  dark,  then  regrets 
that  daylight  "didn't  last  just  a  little  longer." 

My  dear  old  friend,  Mr.  Isaac  McLellan,  who  is  now 
eighty-three  years  of  age,  on  my  writing  him  that  in  this 
book  I  would  treat  the  subject  "Prairie  Chickens,"  said 
that  many  years  ago  he  had  visited  the  prairies  of  the  Great 
West,  and  had  participated  in  many  pleasant  hunts  after 
prairie  chickens,  and  he  promised  to  write  me  a  poem 
descriptive  of  this  fascinating  sport.  He  kindly  did 
so,  and  wrote  for  me  the  following  beautiful  lines,  so 
realistically  descriptive  of  the  habits  of  the  birds  and 
the  season  when  they  are  hunted.  To  one  who  has 
breathed  the  pure  air  of  our  Western  prairies  in  the 
glorious  autumn-time,  these  lines  will  recall  most  pleasant 
memories  of  days  delightfully  spent  in  pursuit  of 
pinnated  grouse: 

Now  autumn  is  flushed  with  tarnished  gold, 

The  woodlands  shine  with  prismy  dyes, 
The  oak-trees  flutter  their  yellow  leaves, 

Resplendent  clouds  sail  thro'  the  skies; 
The  leaf  of  the  elm  shows  dusky  brown, 

The  maples  with  scarlet  bonnets  blaze, 
The  withered  grass,  over  prairie  plain, 

Shines  thin  and  crisp  in  these  autumn  days. 


298  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  drooping  willows  that  shade  the  stream 

Shower  down  to  earth  their  fading  leaves; 
The  golden  wheat  is  garnered  in, 

Corn-fields  are  strewn  with  folded  sheaves; 
The  blue  wild  pigeons  circle  in  air, 

The  plaintive  wood-doves  mourn  in  shades, 
The  quail-flocks  whistle  in  coverts  dense, 

The  partridge  flutters  in  bosky  glades, 
The  upland  plovers  utter  shrill  cry 
As  they  whirl  on  glancing  pinions  by. 

But  the  noblest  bird  that  haunts  the  plain, 

That  hides  in  grasses  its  speckled  brood, 
That  sweeps  over  fields  of  ripen'd  grain, 

That  skirts  the  borders  of  brook  and  wood, 
Is  the  prairie  chicken,  pinnated  grouse — 

Breasting  on  storming  wings  the  air, 
Defying  bravely  the  fowler's  aim, 

The  prowling  fox,  the  poacher's  snare. 

When  hot  mid-summer  heats  prevail, 

To  restful  shades  their  broods  they  lead, 
To  refuges  at  corn-field  edge, 

Where  the  wild  grasses  drop  the  seed; 
But  best  they  love  the  prairie  space, 

Where  measureless  leagues  of  land  extend, 
Far  from  the  harmful  homes  of  men, 

An  unfenced  pasture  without  end. 
And  when  the  wheat-blades  ripen  rich, 

Lavishing  treasures  to  the  ground, 
The  grouse-flocks  muster  to  the  feast, 

And  'mid  the  juicy  stacks  are  found. 

At  night,  amid  the  sumptuous  fields 

Secure,  they  range  the  corn-field  space, 
Sharing  a  banquet  rich  and  rare, 

The  feasts  luxuriant  of  the  place; 
But  when  the  dusky  clouds  of  dawn 

Are  touched  and  gilded  by  the  light, 
On  clashing  pinions  they  arise, 

And  o'er  the  prairies  speed  their  flight; 
There  all  day  long,  'mid  sheltering  grass, 

They  find  a  shelter  and  repose, 
Alarm'd  at  times  by  slaughtering  guns, 

The  deadly  havoc  of  their  foes. 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PIXNATED   GROUSE.  299 

The  middle  of  September  the  birds  are  full-grown, 
strong  of  wing  and  body,  and  are  beginning  to  gather 
together  in  packs  or  flocks;  at  this  time  it  is  hard  to  dis- 
tinguish the  old  from  the  young  birds.  This  is  the 
season  of  the  year  when  they  afford  the  most  editing 
sport,  for  the  birds  are  large  and  strong,  and  in  every 
way  worthy  of  pursuit,  and  the  hunter  feels  that  his 
work  must  be  careful,  his  sight  quick,  his  aim  sure,  and 
his  powder  strong,  for  the  grouse  are  wary  and  tenacious 
of  life,  and  will  carry  oif  many  pellets  of  shot.  As  the 
mornings  are  cool,  the  birds  pass  more  time  in  the 
stubble-fields,  and  on  cloudy  days  spend  the  entire  day 
there.  At  this  time,  the  wheat  and  small  grain  that  have 
fallen  from  the  sheaves  have  sprouted,  and,  intermin- 
gling with  clover  and  short  weeds,  make  an  excellent  cover, 
where  the  birds  can  feed  without  danger  of  being  seen,  and 
yet  can  see  suspicious  danger  approaching  from  any  quar- 
ter; their  flight  at  this  time  is  long,  and  when  flushed  they 
arise  in  a  whirring  body,  and  fly  from  a  half  to  a  full  mile 
before  alighting,  when  they  usually  drop  into  the 
immense  corn-fields.  These  corn-fields  are  their  resorts 
in  times  of  danger,  for  after  they  once  alight  in  these 
protecting  places,  they  run  so  fast  that  they  will  keep 
far  ahead  of  the  pursuing  hunters  and  their  dogs,  whom 
they  hear  coming,  rattling  the  dried  leaves  of  the  stalks, 
or  occasionally  running  against  them,  which  serves  a 
notice  to  quit  on  the  alert  birds.  It  takes  a  wise  dog  to 
circumvent  the  birds  in  these  corn-fields,  but  I  have  had 
great  sport  shooting  them  with  a  dog  that  was  up  to  all 
their  tricks.  Of  all  the  dogs  that  I  ever  shot  over,  he  was 
the  only  one  I  ever  saw  that  could  get  the  best  of  the 
birds  in  the  corn-field,  and  it  was  rarely  that,  on  warm, 
bright  days  in  the  late  months  of  November  and  Decem- 
ber, this  cunning  old  fellow  would  not  outwit  the  birds. 
He  seemed  to  know  that  extreme  cautiousness  must  be 


300  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

exercised  in  the  corn-fields,  and  while  in  the  stubble  his 
tail  waved  from  side  to  side,  as  an  invitation  for  us  to 
follow  him.  When  he  entered  the  corn-fields,  so  brittle 
from  sun  and  frost,  he  knew  that  an  incautious  move- 
ment might  spoil  all,  and  he  would  trot  stealthily  between 
the  rows,  with  head  held  high  to  catch  the  faintest  scent, 
his  tail  drooping  and  immovable,  for  he  knew  that  his 
swinging  tail  would  rattle  the  stalks  and  frighten  the 
birds.  Dear  old  boy,  how  I  remember  his  actions,  his 
looks,  his  caution!  and  how  quietly  he  glided  through 
the  fields,  never  touching  the  fallen  stalks,  but  stepping 
over  them,  and  trotting  around  a  fallen  or  tangled  bunch. 
At  times,  he  would  be  out  of  sight;  but  no  fear  of  him. 
I  have  known  him  strike  a  trail  of  the  birds,  follow  them, 
then  return  to  us  after  having  been  long  hidden  from  our 
view,  then  start  out  again,  and  come  to  the  staunchest 
point  at  a  bird  one  would  suppose  within  thirty  feet  of 
us;  this  was  only  a  ruse  on  his  part  to  attract  our  atten- 
tion, to  warn  us  to  be  on  the  lookout,  for  I  never  saw  him 
make  a  bonafide  point  in  the  late  corn-field.  After  having 
warned  us,  he  wxmld  carefully  and  cautiously  lead  us,  at 
times  hundreds  of  yards,  through  the  fields,  then  stop, 
and  almost  crawl  on  his  belly  to  us.  It  was  wonderful 
the  human  wisdom  he  possessed,  but  lacked  the  power 
of  speech  to  tell;  when  he  got  to  us,  he  would  look  into 
our  faces,  as  much  as  to  say,  "It's  all  right;  I've  got 
them  located."  Then  he  would  go  back  of  us,  perhaps 
thirty  yards,  and  making  a  wide  detour,  get  the  birds 
between  him  and  us;  at  this  time,  his  great  wisdom 
showed  itself,  for  he  knew  that  the  birds  would  run  from 
any  noise,  and  if  closely  pressed,  fly.  After  lie  had  gotten 
beyond  the  birds,  knowing  they  would  run  or  fly  toward 
us,  he  would  rush  toward  them,  running  against  the 
stalks,  and  the  racket  he  made  flushed  the  birds,  and  we 
always  got  quartering  shots;  at  times,  the  birds  flew 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS— PINNATED   GROUSE.  301 

almost  in  our  faces.  The  owner  of  this  dog  and  myself 
shot  eighteen  one  December  day  over  him  in  the  corn- 
field, and  I  never  knew  a  dog,  except  him,  with  whom, 
under  similar  circumstances,  we  could  have  bagged 
a  single  bird.  The  dog  is  still  living,  in  good  health,  so 
I  am  told,  and  I  will  go  many  miles  to  see  him,  to  look 
into  his  honest  face  and  stroke  his  broad  brown  head. 

On  warm  October  days,  the  grouse  are  often  found 
sunning  themselves  along  the  edges  of  the  stubble,  where 
the  ground  is  sloping,  and  where  they  get  the  benefit  of 
the  sun's  warm  rays  and  are  protected  from  the  wind  at 
the  same  time;  at  such  times,  they  lie  well,  and  good  shots 
can  be  obtained  at  them.  One  of  the  most  delightful 
days  I  ever  spent  afield  was  in  the  month  of  December, 
after  pinnated  grouse;  the  night  before,  it  had  snowed 
about  four  inches,  but  the  morning  dawrned  clear, 
with  the  air  keen  and  cold.  It  was  in  the  western  part 
of  Iowa;  the  land  was  unfenced,  and  we  drove  wherever 
we  pleased.  The  birds  had  left  the  corn-fields,  and  were 
found  sitting  on  hay-cocks  and  hay-stacks  that  were 
scattered  all  through  these  upland  meadows.  A  dog  was 
of  no  use,  because  the  birds  were  on  their  high  pedestals, 
and  could  sight  any  approaching  object.  We  were  in  a 
farmer's  bob-sled,  with  the  seat  well  back,  while  the 
driver  sat  in  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh,  far  forward.  On 
sighting  the  birds,  the  driver  would  jog  his  sturdy  old 
horses  along,  while  my  partner  and  self  sat,  with  heavy 
ten-gauge  guns,  ready  to  hurl  No.  6'  s  at  the  birds  at 
our  first  opportunity.  Being  familiar  with  the  sight  of 
farmers'  teams  passing  by,  the  birds  were  not  so  timid  of 
them,  provided  the  team  kept  at  a  respectable  distance. 
It  would  not  do  to  drive  directly  toward  the  birds,  so  we 
made  a  circuit,  or  semi-circle,  gradually  working  toward 
them,  and  striving  to  get  within  forty  or  fifty  yards  of 
them,  and  on  their  springing  up  we  would  get  in  both 


302  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

barrels  as  soon  as  possible.  It  took  quick  shooting  and  a 
hard-hitting  gun  to  bag  those  veterans;  we  killed  none 
inside  of  forty  yards,  while  most  of  them  dropped  nearer 
sixty.  During  that  day  we  bagged  twenty-eight,  and  they 
were  the  handsomest  lot  of  grouse  I  ever  saw,  each  one 
being  of  unusual  growth  and  of  fully  three  pounds  weight. 

Our  English  cousins,  who  have  never  experienced  the 
delights  of  pinnated  grouse  shooting,  and  who  know  of 
these  birds  as  they  are  in  the  summer  months,  at  a  time 
when  their  young  lives  are  as  tender  as  those  of  the  fee- 
blest of  birds,  think  that  the  bagging  of  them  lacks  the 
spirit  of  sport  found  in  hunting  the  heath  cock  of  their 
own  country.  To  such  my  earnest  desire  is,  that  the  fair 
breeze  of  fortune  will  bring  the  white  wings  of  some  ves- 
sel to  our  land,  and  that  these  gentlemen  will  be  aboard, 
and  in  the  golden  autumn,  when  the  frost  has  touched 
with  gilded  fingers  the  meadows  and  the  uplands,  cloth- 
ing all  Nature  in  her  winter  garments,  that  they  may 
partake  of  the  indescribable  pleasure  of  trying  their  skill 
at  our  full-grown,  vigilant  grouse  in  a  November  stubble 
or  corn  field,  and  they  will  say,  as  others  have  said,  that 
there  is  no  upland  bird  harder  to  bag,  and  more  thor 
oughly  appreciated,  than  the  pinnated  grouse  of  our  land, 
when  killed  on  an  October  or  November  day. 

The  thought  has  often  been  brought  to  many,  whether 
or  not  these  birds  migrate.  Yes,  they  do;  not,  however, 
in  the  manner  of  migrating  wild  fowl,  but  they  work 
slowly  southward  in  large  fiocks,  apparently  not  with 
the  intention  of  avoiding  cold  weather,  for  they  don't 
seem  to  mind  the  cold,  but  most  of  them  seem  to  desire  to 
spend  the  winter  in  places  other  than  where  reared.  This 
we  know,  for  all  through  the  winter  months  we  find  large 
flocks  where  we  had  hunted  during  the  fall  and  found  no 
birds.  We  notice  them  in  driving  across  the  country,  and 
especially  when  riding  on  the  trains;  they  are  a  beautiful 


PRAIRIE  CHICKENS — PINNATED  GROUSE.  303 

sight,  standing  up  so  alertly  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
from  the  track,  their  mottled  feathers  blending  prettily 
with  the  ground,  covered  with  the  spotless  white  of  the 
soft  snow.  At  such  times,  the  novice  wishes  he  was  out, 
and  had  his  gun ;  foolish  boy,  he  could  not  get  anywhere 
near  gunshot  to  them,  for  at  this  time  they  are  the  wild- 
est. As  their  line  of  flight  is  about  the  height  of  the  tel- 
egraph wires,  many  birds  are  killed  by  flying  against 
them,  and  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  section -men  along  the 
railroad  are  always  on  the  watch  for  the  ever-welcome 
chicken.  At  the  season  of  the  year  when  the  snow  is 
deep  and  food  is  hard  to  obtain,  the  farmer's  boy  exhibits 
his  cunning,  and  with  his  trap  baited  with  corn  catches 
the  birds,  and  at  home  he  marches  in,  throwing  down  his 
feathered  prizes,  when  for  a  time  salt  pork  and  bacon  are 
relegated  to  the  cellar,  and  the  family  feast  on  prairie 
chickens.  The  laws  are  very  stringent  against  the  trap- 
ping of  pinnated  grouse,  but  the  farmer  seems  to  think 
that  the  law  of  the  land  has  no  effect  on  his  land,  so  far 
as  he  or  his  family  are  concerned;  in  other  words,  that  he 
has  the  right  at  all  times  to  capture,  as  he  sees  fit,  suffi- 
cient of  the  birds  for  the  use  and  benefit  of  himself  and 
family.  This  impression  is  entirely  erroneous,  for  the 
prairie  chickens  are  regarded  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  as 
ferce  natures— that  is,  animals  of  a  wild  nature,  belong- 
ing to  no  one,  but  being  under  the  protection  of  the  law 
as  provided  by  statute;  and  the  farmer  has  no  more  right 
to  kill  or  capture  these  birds  in  the  close  season  than  has 
the  veriest  stranger.  The  fact  that  they  breed  on  his  land 
makes  no  difference;  they  are  not  his  until  he  has  them 
in  his  actual  possession;  even  then,  they  are  only  his  so 
long  as  he  retains  possession  of  them;  let  them  escape,  and 
they  become  again  animals  ferce  natures,  and  remain 
so  unless  they  have  animus  revertendi  (the  intention 
of  returning),  which  no  member  of  the  grouse  family  ever 


304  '         UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

had  after  having  once  been  captured  and  then  regained  its 
liberty.  The  law,  while  protecting  game  birds  in  the  close 
season,  as  against  every  individual,  is  as  generous  in  the 
open  season,  when  it  says:  "All  mankind  has,  by  the 
original  grant  of  the  Creator,  the  right  to  pursue  and 
take  any  fowl  or  insect  of  the  air,  any  fish  or  inhabitant  of 
the  water,  and  any  beast  or  reptile  of  the  field,  and  this 
natural  right  still  continues  in  every  individual,  unless 
when  it  is  restrained  by  the  civil  laws  of  the  country.'1 
Sportsmen,  at  times,  feel  bitter  at  farmers  because  they 
will  not  allow  hunting  on  their  premises;  but  if  sports- 
men would  only  consider  the  damage  farmers  sustain,  at 
times,  by  reason  of  the  carelessness  of  hunters  and  hood- 
lum boys,  they  would  not  blame  them  for  making  an 
iron-clad  rule  refusing  all  persons  the  privilege  of  shoot- 
ing in  their  fields. 

I  have  seen  thoughtless  hunters  trample  down  grain, 
grass,  buckwheat,  leave  open  gates  and  bars,  break  down 
fences,  and  allow  their  dogs  to  chase  sheep  and  run  after 
cattle,  while  the  hunters  themselves  shot  indiscriminately 
where  cattle  were  feeding.  It  isn'  t  necessary  for  a  sports- 
man to  show  his  breeding  in  the  drawing-room  alone,  for 
the  true  sportsman  will  be  as  much  a  gentleman  in  the 
field,  with  the  waving  fields  of  grain  around  him  and  the 
blue  sky  overhead,  as  witnesses,  as  if  he  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  brilliant  gathering  and  under  the  sur- 
veillance of  the  most  critical  eyes. 

The  game  of  our  country  is  being  surely  exterminated, 
and  unless  we  desire  the  death  of  the  goose  which  is 
laying  for  us  the  golden  egg,  the  most  rigid  observance 
must  be  made  of  the  enforcement  of  our  game  laws.  It 
was  but  a  few  years  ago  that  our  plains  were  black  with 
grazing  buffaloes;  to-day,  the  bison  is  a  thing  of  the  past 
—butchered  in  cold  blood  by  thoughtless  and  heartless 
men,  who-  forgot  the  element  of  sport  that  is  inherent  in 


PRAIKIK    CIIICKEXS — PIXXATED    GROUSE.  305 

the  character  of  man,  and  sunk  themselves  into  human 
ghouls,  who  reveled  in  animal  blood  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
dollars,  killing,  killing,  ever  killing,  and  allowing  the 
carcasses  to  lie  and  rot  on  the  plains,  or  serve  as  food  for 
the  howling  wolves  or  the  scavenger  crows  and  buzzards. 
Then  the  wild  pigeon — that  beautiful  bird  that  used  to 
darken  the  setting  sun  with  myriad  flocks,  while  the  rus- 
set of  the  male  and  the  blue  of  the  female  seemed  to 
make  the  sky  alive  in  variegated  shades  of  colors;  they, 
too,  are  gone,  exterminated  from  the  face  of  the  earth, 
not  for  sport,  but  for  gain,  the  death  of  each  bird  telling 
its  destroyer  that  he  had  made  a  few  pennies,  or  that  one 
more  drop  had  fallen  to  quench  his  thirst  for  the  blood 
of  these  innocents.  Because  the  buffaloes  and  the  pigeons 
have  been  exterminated,  it  doesn't  follow  that  the  prairie 
chicken  must  necessarily  go  the  same  way;  on  the  con- 
trary, not  only  can  they  be  saved,  but  they  can  be  multi- 
plied; but  this  can  be  done  only  by  moderation  and  strict 
observance  of  existing  laws.  I  appeal  now  to  the  heart 
of  every  true  sportsman,  the  most  generous  class  of  men 
on  earth,  to  practice  moderation  in  your  shooting;  do 
not,  when  you  are  in  the  midst  of  a  covey  of  birds,  kill 
for  the  sake  of  killing,  or  to  see  how  many  you  can  bag; 
you  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  them,  what 
friends  you  wish  to  remember.  In  other  words,  within 
your  mind  is  fixed  the  number  of  your  friends  who  will 
appreciate  the  birds.  When  you  have  gotten  your  num- 
ber, you  have  a  quantum  sufficit;  then  stop.  I  have  wit- 
nessed too  much  of  this  trying  to  make  big  scores  in 
shooting  prairie  chickens,  and  have  seen  them  in  heaps  at 
the  roadside,  rotting  in  the  August  sun,  because  they 
could  not  be  shipped,  and  the  parties  shooting  them 
knew  at  the  time  of  shooting  that,  of  necessity,  the  birds 
must  spoil.  Shame!  shame!  on  the  man  who  will  do 
this.  Many  hunters  will  go  out  in  advance  of  the  open 
20 


306  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

season,  a  clay,  perhaps  two  days,  just  enough  to  be  first 
into  the  young  broods;  these  men  know  they  are  violat- 
ing the  law,  and  in  their  guilty  hearts  there  lurks  but 
one  fear,  and  that  fear  is,  that  they  may  be  apprehended 
and  fined.  The  sanctity,  the  purity  of  the  law,  that  they 
as  good  citizens  should  uphold,  is  willfully  violated,  and 
to  cover  their  shameful  acts,  they  hide  their  guns  and 
dogs  in  their  wagons  and  sneak  out  before  daybreak,  and 
return  after  dark;  if  seen  coming  in  by  some  friend,  and 
asked  where  they  have  been,  they  reply  in  a  nonchalant 
manner:  "Been  after  snipe."  To  say  they  do  this  because 
others  do,  is  to  present  a  childish  excuse,  devoid  of  rea- 
son, for  no  sane  man  can  knowingly  violate  a  law  and 
be  excused.  The  maxim  Ignorantia  leyis  neminem 
exeusat  (ignorance  of  the  law  excuses  no  one)  is  as  old 
as  the  hills,  and  its  principles  will  never  change.  We 
can  only  attribute  this  willful  violation  of  the  game  laws 
to  extreme  selfishness,  and  no  man  with  the  heart  of  the 
true  sportsman  throbbing  in  his  breast  will  do  it.  For  a 
number  of  years  the  time  for  shooting  prairie  chickens 
commenced  August  1st;  this  was  entirely  too  early.  A 
step  in  the  right  direction  was  taken  when  the  law,  in 
Iowa,  was  changed  to  August  loth,  but  a  beneficent 
advancement  was  still  further  made  when  the  law  was 
passed  making  the  open  season  to  begin  the  1st  of  Sep- 
tember. September  1st !  That  is  a  glorious  time  to  com- 
mence to  shoot  these  birds,  for  they  are  full-grown, 
worthy  of  pursuit,  and  are  kings  and  queens  of  the 
prairies.  At  this  time  I  would  rather  bag  a  half-dozen 
than  to  get  three  times  as  many  early  in  the  season.  The 
Legislature  of  Illinois  has  passed  a  law  prohibiting  the 
shooting  of  prairie  chickens  for  the  period  of  two  years. 
This  law  went  into  effect  in  1887.  At  the  time  of  its 
passage,  it  met  with  the  most  violent  opposition  on  the 
part  of  many  sportsmen,  for  they  felt  it  to  be  an  unwar- 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS — PIXXATED   GROUSE.  307 

ranted  restriction  on  a  sport  they  had  always  looked 
forward  to  with  interest,  and  had  enjoyed.  On  the  plea 
that  other  States  allowed  the  killing  of  these  birds  within 
certain  seasons,  also  saying  that  their  dogs  would  become 
useless,  that  others  would  not  observe  the  law,  they 
sought  to  hinder  its  passage;  but  the  law  was  passed, 
went  into  effect,  is  generally  observed,  and  to-day  there 
are  more  prairie  chickens  within  the  boundary  of  the 
State  of  Illinois  than  there  has  been  for  years.  Thus  the 
sportsmen  were  deceived  in  the  effect  of  this  law,  for  the 
great  ills  they  thought  would  happen  by  temporarily 
depriving  them  of  the  pursuit  of  birds  was  only  imagin- 
ary, and  the  actual  truth  of  the  goodness  of  this  wise 
law  showed  itself  in  the  ultimate  result — the  great 
increase  of  the  birds. 

Other  States  can  follow  the  example  of  Illinois  with 
profit.  We  are  all  inclined  to  be  a  little  selfish  when 
our  ancient  and  long -established  rights  are  threatened 
with  interference,  and  we  dislike  having  any  laws  go  into 
effect  that  may  in  anywise  preclude  us  from  the  enjoy- 
ment of  field  sports.  The  greatest  good  to  the  many, 
should  be  our  motto.  Can  we  not  be  generous,  and  help 
to  increase  rather  than  diminish  these  birds  ?  Tempora- 
rily we  may  be  deprived  of  pleasures  afield,  but  the  in- 
crease of  birds  will  reward  us,  and  our  growing  children 
and  their  descendants  will  thank  us  for  our  forethought 
in  years  to  come.  Unless  we  take  wise  and  manly  steps 
toward  the  preservation  and  protection  of  game,  the  time 
is  not  distant  when  game  pictures,  taxidermized  speci- 
mens, word  paintings  of  birds,  will  be  the  only  sources 
from  which  our  descendants  can  obtain  information  of 
birds  that  will  be  extinct,  but  which  at  this  time  we  find 
fairly  plenty.  At  times  during  the  past  few  weeks,  I 
have  noticed  one  of  my  boys,  a  youth  of  twelve,  intently 
studying  the  pages  of  my  shooting  papers  and  sporting 


308  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

magazines.  When  I  cautiously  peeped  over  his  shoulders, 
I  always  found  him  looking  at  the  cuts  of  guns.  Of  late, 
he  has  asked  me  many  questions  concerning  their 
mechanism ,  the  proper  weight,  bore,  how  to  hold  on  moving 
objects,  etc.,  etc.  I  knew  the  latent  fire  that  was  raging 
within  him,  for  my  boyhood  days  seemed  just  passed,  and 
vivid  is  my  recollection  of  the  time  of  my  longing  for  a 
gun — my  first  gun.  I  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when 
last  night  he,  with  boyish  enthusiasm,  recounted  to  his 
mother  and  me  the  successful  shots  he  had  made  during 
the  day  with  his  spring-gun;  the  sparrows  he  had  killed, 
the  tin  cans  he  had  hit  when  thrown  up  by  his  compan- 
ions. Finally  he  came  to  me'  when  I  was  writing,  and 
gently  threw  his  arm  around  me,  looking  tenderly  into 
my  eyes  with  his  deep-blue  ones,  while  in  timid  voice  he 
said :  "Papa,  how  old  were  you  when  your  papa  bought 
you  your  first  gun  ?' '  And  then  his  voice  grew  stronger, 
and  he  continued  with  earnestness,  "  I  would  rather  have 
a  gun  than  any  other  thing  in  this  world."  When  you 
are  fourteen,  my  son,  said  I,  then  I  will—  ' '  Why,  my 
boy,'"  exclaimed  his  mother,  "when  you  are  large  enough 
to  go  into  the  fields  and  hunt,  the  birds  will  all  be  gone— 
killed  off.' '  The  growing  scarcity  of  game  was  so  appar- 
ent to  her,  that  she  made  this  remark.  She  was  not 
interested  in  the  preservation  of  game,  except  so  far  as  to 
feel  an  interest  in  what  she  knew  was  of  moment  or 
interest  to  me.  There  was  solemn  truth  in  what  she  said, 
and  unless  we,  whose  place  it  is  to  obey  the  law  and  to 
pass  laws  which  in  our  wisdom  and  experience  we  know 
to  be  for  the  protection  and  preservation  of  game,  do  our 
duty,  we  are  unfit  to  be  classified  as  sportsmen,  and 
should  hide  our  heads  in  shame,  bury  ourselves  in  our 
several  places  of  business,  try  to  forget  our  early  lives, 
the  days  we  spent  with  Nature  in  the  forests,  at  the  hill- 
sides, by  the  gurgling  brooks,  on  the  silvery  streams,  on 


PRAIRIE   CHICKENS— PINNATED   GROUSE. 


309 


the  rolling  prairies,  in  the  pursuit  of  fin  and  feather; 
forget  all  these  ever  living  and  recurring  memories,  and 
through  our  selfishness  fail  to  leave  our  children  the 
delights  to  be  found  in  the  field,  which  the  poorest  of  us 
have  the  power  to  leave  them — as  our  legacy,  as  their 
inheritance. 


THE  WILD  GOOSE. 


BY  C.  R.  TIXAX  ("  XAXIT  "). 


fERHAPS  no  game  bird  on  the  American 
Continent  is  so  generally  known,  and  which, 
in  one  sense,  sportsmen  are  so  little  familiar 
with,  as  the  wild  goose.  By  term  ' '  wild 
goose ' '  I  refer  to  all  of  the  different  varieties 
of  the  goose  family,  including  the  brant.  Covering  almost 
every  portion  of  the  United  States  in  their  migratory 
flight  to  the  frozen  North  in  the  early  spring,  and  to  the 
sunny  South  with  the  first  signs  of  cold  weather,  the 
"honk!  honk!  Lonk!"  of  the  Canada  goose,  and  the 
peculiar  cries  of  the  other  varieties,  are  recognized  by 
everyone;  but  rearing  their  young  in  the  wilderness 
of  the  British  Possessions,  or  in  the  icy  fastnesses  of  the 
Arctic  regions,  has  made  their  habits  during  their  breeding 
season  but  little  known,  and  the  small  area  of  the  United 
States  which  they  frequent  during  their  migratory  flights, 
leaves  the  great  body  of  sportsmen  practically  unac- 
quainted with  the  methods  adapted  to  the  successful 
pursuit  of  them. 

In  a  work  of  this  kind — especially  in  a  chapter  neces- 
sarily limited  in  its  length — it  is  even  quite  impossible  to 
enter  into  a  scientific  ornithological  treatment  of  the  wild 
goose,  even  were  the  writer  competent  to  do  so.  The 
naturalist  or  ornithological  student  would  not  be  enlight- 
ened further  than  what  has  already  been  written,  and  the 
average  reader  would  be  more  wearied  than  entertained. 
It  is  my  purpose  to  skip  as  lightly  as  possible  over  that 

(311) 


312  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

portion  of  the  subject,  and,  in  imagination,  take  the 
reader  with  me,  properly  equipped  for  the  sport,  out  onto 
the  low,  broad  plains  of  Southern  Texas,  some  pleasant 
winter  day,  or,  better  yet,  into  the  golden  stubble-fields 
of  Nebraska  or  Dakota,  where  goose- shooting  is  to-day 
seen  at  its  best;  but  a  chapter  on  the  wild  goose  without 
a  partial  description  of  the  general  appearance  of  the 
bird  it  treats  of,  would  be  incomplete  at  its  best.  It  would 
be  like  a  well-known  Shakespearean  drama  with ,  the 
principal  character  left  out. 

The  wild  goose  family  contains  not  less  than  a  dozen 
different  varieties.  When  the  many  different  names 
applied  to  the  same  species  is  taken  into  consideration,  one 
is  inclined  to  believe — the  novice  especially — that  there 
must  be  ten  times  one  dozen;  but  of  the  different  varie- 
ties, not  over  six  or  seven  are  well  defined.  In  one  of  the 
best  known  works  on  wild  fowl  shooting,  only  two  varie- 
ties are  mentioned,  the  Canada  goose  and  the  white- 
fronted  goose,  two  of  the  best  known  to  Western  sports- 
men in  an  early  day.  In  a  more  recent  and  better  work, 
the  author  refers  to  four  varieties — the  Canada,  snow- 
goose,  brant  or  brent  goose,  and  the  white-fronted. 
These  four  varieties  comprise  about  all  that  are  commonly 
met  with  in  the  West,  of  which  the  last  named  is  nowa- 
days but  seldom  seen. 

To  attempt  to  so  accurately  describe  the  different  vari- 
eties of  geese  and  brant  that  the  novice  would  instantly 
recognize  them  when  seen,  seems  a  hopeless  task,  so 
mixed  is  the  nomenclature  of  the  goose  family.  It  is  a 
clear  case  of  making  confusion  worse  confounded.  As  a 
well-known  writer  on  wild  fowl  truly  says,  ' '  The  nomen- 
clature of  goose  family  will  put  in  doubt  and  mystify 
the  wild  fowl  hunter  great ly,  for  they  receive  their  names 
in  the  West,  not  scientifically  and  historically,  but 
locally."  The  same  author  then  cites  as  an  illustration 


THE   WILD   GOOSE  313 

the  fact  that  what  are  called  "Hutchins"  geese  in 
Nebraska  are  precisely  like  the  Canadas,  only  smaller. 
Incidentally,  I  believe  that  the  variety  referred  to  is  rightly 
named  in  Nebraska.  I  once  thought  to  the  contrary, 
that  the  Hutchins  geese  were  but  the  unmatured  Cana- 
das, but  a  subsequent  study  of  the  birds  has  altered  the 
early-formed  opinion.  In  Dakota,  many  local  sportsmen 
call  the  Hutchins  geese  "Mexican"  geese  or  "Texan" 
geese.  Everything  else  is  a  "brant,"  except  the  Cana- 
das, which  they  call  "old  honkers,"  and  the  snow- 
geese.  The  white-fronted  geese  they  term  "speckled 
brant." 

The  following  semi-ornithological  descriptions  and  the 
local  names  of  the  respective  varieties  of  the  goose  family 
will  perhaps  give  the  average  sportsman  as  nearly  a  per- 
fect idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  birds  as  will  be  found. 
For  the  ornithological  descriptions  I  am  indebted  to 
Gordon  TrumbulFs  late  work,  "Names  and  Portraits  of 
Birds." 

Brant  (Branta  bernicld) — (brent-goose — brent — brand- 
goose — common  brant — black  brant).  Head  and  bill, 
with  neck  all  around,  and  extreme  fore  part  of  body, 
black;  on  either  side  of  neck  a  group  of  white  scratches. 
The  back,  with  front  wings,  brown;  the  feathers  paler  at 
the  ends;  remainder  of  wings,  black,  or  nearly  so,  as  is 
the  tail,  the  latter,  however,  being  almost  concealed  by  a 
covering  of  white  feathers,  technically  called  "coverts." 
Under  parts  of  plumage,  grayish  brown,  the  ends  of  the 
feathers  touched  with  white,  this  producing  transverse 
bars;  legs,  blackish;  length,  about  twenty-four  inches; 
extent,  forty-six  to  forty-eight  inches;  weight,  about  live 
pounds. 

Of  the  breeding-habits  of  the  black  brant  but  little  is 
known.  They  rear  their  young  far  into  the  frozen  North, 
and  their  domestic  life  may  forever  remain  a  mystery. 


314  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

When  in  captivity  they  show  no  disposition  to  breed,  and 
seemingly  never  become  reconciled  to  the  unnatural 
restraint.  Their  food  consists  almost  wholly  of  vegeta- 
tion, but  they  readily  subsist  upon  grains  when  in  cap- 
tivity. They  are  much  more  common  on  the  sea-coast 
than  in  the  interior,  and  are  rarely  met  with  in  the  West. 

Snow-goose  (white  brant — wavey — fish-brant — Texas 
goose — blue  goose — blue  snow-goose — white-headed  goose 
— bald  brant).  The  true  snow-goose  is  white,  with  end  of 
wing  black;  fore  parts  of  plumage  frequently  stained  with 
reddish  brown,  this  generally  more  noticeable  on  front 
of  head;  bill,  light  purplish  red,  but  variable  from  a 
dusky  tone  to  flesh-color,  with  black  recess  along  its  sides; 
legs,  deep  purplish  red,  though  variable.  In  the  young, 
the  upper  parts  are  bluish  gray  or  lead-color,  more  or  less 
varied  with  white;  end  of  wing  as  in  adult;  bill  and  legs, 
dusky. 

Two  varieties  are  recognized  by  ornithologists,  viz.: 
lesser  snow-goose  and  greater  snow-goose.  The  smaller 
bird  measures  twenty -five  inches  in  length  and  about  fifty- 
two  inches  in  extent;  the  larger,  which  has  just  been 
described,  measures  several  inches  larger.  The  two 
varieties  grade  toward  one  another  confusingly.  The 
names  snow-goose,  fish-brant,  and  white  brant  are  locally 
applied  to  the  larger  variety,  and  the  names  blue  goose, 
bald  brant,  blue  snow-goose,  etc.,  to  the  smaller  kind. 
The  smaller  variety  is  the  same  shape  and  form  as  the 
larger  kind,  and  has  the  appearance  of  being  arrayed  in 
the  undeveloped  plumage  of  the  true  snow -goose.  The 
head  and  neck  of  the  lesser  snow-goose  is  white,  with  the 
remaining  plumage  principally  grayish  brown,  with  more 
or  lesS  bluish  gray,  the  feathers  ending  paler;  wings, 
plain,  light  bluish  gray,  with  their  flight-feathers  black, 
or  nearly  so;  rump,  light  gray,  or  more  whitish;  legs  and 
bill,  like  the  larger  kind. 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  315 

This  latter  variety  is  not  common  in  the  West,  at  least 
not  in  those  States  and  Territories  most  frequented  by  the 
geese  and  brant.  Their  larger  cousins — the  true  snow- 
geese — are,  however,  found  in  countless  numbers  all  over 
the  prairie  States,  and  are  common  to  all  the  country 
between  the  Missouri  River  and  the  Pacific  Coast.  In 
Dakota,  they  arrive  at  about  the  same  time  as  the  other 
varieties,  and  are  always  found  associated  with  the 
Canadas.  The  Pacific  Slope  is  a  favorite  winter  home  of 
these  birds,  and  large  numbers  are  killed.  The  shooting, 
in  years  past,  has  been  equally  as  good  in  Dakota  and 
along  the  Platte  River,  in  Nebraska,  during  the  fall.  Of 
their  breeding-habits  but  little  is  known.  Like  the  black 
brant  and  other  varieties,  they  nest  in  the  far  North. 

White-fronted  goose  (laughing  goose — harlequin  brant 
— pied  brant — prairie  brant — speckled  belly — speckled 
brant — yellow-legged  goose — gray  brant).  Upper  parts, 
principally  grayish  brown,  the  broad  ends  of  the  feathers 
narrowly  edged  with  brownish  white,  the  pale  edgings 
turned  to  pure  white  on  tail  and  certain  feathers  of  the 
wings;  the  head  and  upper  neck  of  closer  mixture,  or 
nearly  plain  brown;  extreme  front  of  head,  next  to  bill, 
white,  this  white  intensified  by  the  brown  just  back  of  it, 
which  is  of  a  deeper  tint,  or  blackish;  breast,  in  a  high 
state  of  plumage,  blackish  brown,  broken  only  by  a  few 
pale  or  white  edgings  to  the  feathers,  but,  as  more  often 
seen,  a  blotchy  mixture  of  black  and  white;  the  feathers 
of  rump,  and  those  beneath  the  tail,  pure  white;  color 
of  bill,  varying  with  different  specimens,  from  flesh-color 
and  yellowish  to  darker  and  more  reddish  tint;  the  nail 
at  end,  white,  or  nearly  so;  legs  and  feet,  orange,  the 
webs  lighter,  and  the  claws  white.  Length,  twenty- seven 
inches;  extent,  sixty  inches;  weight,  six  pounds. 

The  white-fronted  goose,  called  "brant"  or  "  speck- 
led belly"  by  nearly  all  Western  sportsmen,  is  rarely 


316  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

ever  found  east  of  the  Mississippi  River,  and,  in  these 
days,  is  by  no  means  common  in  Nebraska,  Dakota,  or 
other  Western  States.  During  the  first  few  years  of  set- 
tlement of  these  States,  they  were  very  abundant,  but 
for  the  past  few  years  seem  to  have  surrendered  the  ter- 
ritory to  their  cousins — the  Canadas  and  the  snow-geese. 
They  generally  arrive  from  the  North  early  in  September, 
a  few  weeks  in  advance  of  the  Canadas  and  Hutchins, 
and  leave  for  the  South  as  much  earlier.  They  breed 
north  of  the  60th  parallel,  in  the  wooded  districts,  and 
are  found  in  great  numbers  in  Alaska  during  the  sum- 
mer. Their  favorite  winter  home  is  Mexico  and  the 
Pacific  Slope. 

Canada  goose  (common  wild  goose — big  gray  goose — 
honker).  Head,  neck,  bill,  and  legs,  black;  patch  about 
throat,  and  feathers  above  and  below  tail,  white;  upper 
parts  of  plumage,  principally  brown,  this  fading  into 
light  gray  beneath;  brown  of  rump  and  tail,  darker,  or 
blackish.  Length,  thirty-six  to  forty  inches;  weight,  ten 
to  eighteen  pounds. 

Hutchins  goose  (lesser  Canada  goose — small  gray 
goose — prairie  goose — little  wild  goose).  A  small  variety  of 
the  common  wild  goose,  and  in  appearance,  excepting 
size,  like  it  in  all  respects.  Length,  about  twenty-seven 
inches;  extent,  forty-eight  inches;  weight,  seven  to  ten 
pounds. 

I  have  grouped  the  description  of  these  two  birds 
together,  in  that  they  are  both  known  as  the  Canada  or 
common  wild  goose;  but  while  the  true  Canada  goose 
is  common  to  all  parts  of  the  United  States,  the  Hutchins 
goose  is  only  found  west  of  the  Mississippi,  I  believe, 
and  throughout  Dakota  and  Nebraska  is  more  often  met 
with  than  the  larger  variety.  The  Hutchins  goose  breeds 
in  the  Arctic  regions,  while  the  Canadas  breed  in  isolated 
lakes  and  streams  throughout  portions  of  the  United 


THE   WILD   GOOSK.  317 

States,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  great  body  of 
them  breed  in  the  British  Possessions.  In  all  other 
respects,  the  habits  of  the  two  varieties  are  identical. 
Years  ago,  the  Canadas  bred  in  considerable  numbers  on 
the  northern  tributaries  of  the  Mississippi  and  Missouri 
Rivers,  but  the  rapid  settlement  of  the  country  has  driven 
them  farther  north,  except  in  rare  instances,  so  that  it 
is  safe  to  say  that,  in  these  days,  no  variety  of  the  goose 
family  breeds  within  the  boundaries  of  the  United  States. 

The  common  wild  goose  is  easily  reared  in  captivity, 
but  never  becomes  thoroughly  domesticated.  Unless 
their  wings  are  clipped,  they  will  at  the  first  opportunity 
join  some  passing  flock.  They  cross  readily  with  domestic 
geese,  and  the  flesh  of  the  cross-bred  bird  is  the  superior 
of  either  the  wild  or  native.  When  three  years  old,  in 
captivity,  they  lay  from  three  to  five  eggs,  and  gradually 
increase  the  number  as  they  grow  older.  In  their  wild 
state,  they  frequently  nest  in  trees. 

The  Canadas  are  the  last  of  the  geese  or  brant  to 
come  down  from  the  North  in  the  fall,  and  the  first  to 
arrive  from  the  South  in  the  spring,  often  coming  before 
the  ponds,  lakes,  and  rivers  are  open  sufficiently  to  wet 
their  feet. 

The  Canada  goose  lives  to  a  great  age — 100  years,  it 
is  said.  I  believe  it.  I  have  eaten  them — or  tried  to. 
A  yound  wild  goose  —  Canada,  Hutchins,  white-fronted, 
or  snow-goose,  or  brant — is  delicious  eating,  however, 
when  properly  baked;  but  the  trouble  of  it  is,  sometimes, 
a  novice  can  not  distinguish  an  old  bird  from  a  young 
one,  and  when  it  comes  to  picking  out  a  young  goose 
from  a  mixed  lot  of  Canadas  and  Hutchins,  it  becomes  a 
most  difficult  task,  one  is  so  liable  to  select  an  old 
Hutchins  goose  for  a  young  Canada. 

Standing  on  a  bluff  of  old  Lake  Erie,  thirty-five  miles 
east  of  Cleveland,  one  cold  March  morning  way  back  in 


318  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

the  '70s,  I  brought  down  an  old  gander,  who  was  leading 
his  flock  out  for  a  midday  drink  in  the  lake,  which  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  was  piloting  his  fellows  across 
the  country  in  Washington's  time.  If  I  remember 
rightly,  he  weighed  eighteen  pounds,  and  an  all-day's  par- 
boiling in  a  wash-boiler  and  a  half -day's  roasting  in  a  hot 
oven  was  not  sufficent  to  get  him  in  shape  to  set  before 
company.  Tough?  Well,  he  was  tough  enough  to  have 
gotten  up  and  walked  out  of  the  room  with  the  invited 
guests.  Since  that  bit  of  cuisine  experience,  I  have  made 
it  a  rule,  when  superintending  the  preparation  of  a  goose 
of  uncertain  age  for  the  table,  to  place  a  robust  and 
healthy  brick  in  the  roasting-pan.  When  the  brick  is 
easily  pierced  with  a  fork,  it  is  safe  to  test  your  guests  on 
the  goose. 

The  receipt  for  cooking  a  hare,  "first  catch  your 
hare,"  well  applies  to  the  wild  goose.  Now  that  I  have 
enabled  the  novice  to  readily  distinguish  any  variety  of 
the  goose  family  brought  to  bag,  it  is  fit  that  he  should 
be  instructed  how  to  "catch  his  goose." 

Space  will  not  allow,  nor  is  it  necessary  to  go  into 
details  over  the  different  methods  pursued  in  the  capture 
of  each  of  the  different  varieties.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  nine 
out  of  every  ten  readers  of  this  work  will,  if  they  ever  go 
upon  a  goose-hunting  trip,  encounter  the  Canadas  or 
Hutchins  almost  exclusively,  and  as  all  that  may  be  said 
of  them  and  their  habits  applies  to  all  the  other  varieties, 
except  as  noted  further  on.  I  shall  confine  myself  almost 
wholly  to  them;  but  before  coming  to  that,  a  few  hints 
about  hunting  some  of  the  other  varieties  may  be 
instructive  to  the  amateur  and  interesting  to  the  old  and 
experienced  hunter. 

"  Silly  as  a  goose"  is  a  saying  familiar  to  all,  but  it  is 
not,  perhaps,  until  one  has  hunted  them  in  their  wild 
state  that  the  saying  is  given  even  a  passing  thought,  and 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  319 

but  one  opinion  then  prevails,  that  the  author  would  have 
qualified  his  expression  had  lie  been  familiar  with  his 
subject,  for  a  keener,  wilder,  and  a  more  difficult  bird  to 
bring  to  bag  does  not  exist.  The  manner  of  hunting 
them  depends  somewhat  on  the  variety  at  hand,  and  more 
particularly  upon  the  country  and  the  season  of  the 
year. 

The  sportsman  who  starts  in  search  of  a  fortnight's 
shooting  at  geese  nowadays  would,  in  almost  all  proba- 
bility, make  Dakota  or  Nebraska  his  objective  point,  and 
the  fall  of  the  year  the  time.  The  varieties  he  would 
encounter  in  those  States  would  be  mostly  the  Hutchins, 
Canadas,  white  geese,  and  a  sprinkling  of  the  white- 
fronted  geese.  The  white  geese  are  seldom  made  a 
sole  object  of  pursuit  by  Western  sportsmen.  Unlike  the 
Canadas,  they  do  not  decoy  readily;  and  although  always 
found  associating  with  the  Canada  and  Hutchins  geese, 
are  more  uncertain  in  their  habits,  and  those  I  have  shot 
have  been  brought  to  bag  more  by  some  fortunate  circum- 
stance than  any  particular  skill  on  my  part.  They  are 
strikingly  handsome  birds  when  flocked  in  large  numbers, 
and  I  know  of  nothing  that  will  delight  a  sportsman's 
eyes  more  than  a  sight  at  1,000  or  more  of  them  sit- 
ting upon  some  prairie  knoll  that  has  been  burned 
over  and  blackened,  or  when  they  are  circling  over  some 
stubble-tield  on  a  bright,  sunny  afternoon. 

One  early  morning,  some  five  years  ago,  I  lay  in  a 
stubble-field  located  about  two  miles  west  of  White  Lake, 
Aurora  County,  S.  Dak.,  waiting  the  expected  arrival 
of  the  Canada  geese  for  breakfast.  Around  me  were 
clustered  a  dozen  profile  Canada  geese  decoys  and  one 
lone  white  goose  decoy — the  latter  a  sample  from  the 
manufacturers.  As  the  sun  rose  above  the  low  eastern 
bank  of  the  lake,  a  long,  glistening  white  line  arose  from 
the  lake  and  bore  down  in  my  direction.  On  they  came 


320  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

direct  to  the  field,  but  instead  of  swinging  into  my  decoys, 
as  expected,  made  one  or  two  circles  at  a  safe  distance, 
and,  with  that  irregular,  snipe-like  pitch  peculiar  to  them, 
dropped  down  in  the  corner  of  the  stubble,  150  yards 
away.  Presently  there  came  another  flock,  and  with 
much  the  same  maneuvering  they  joined  their  fellows. 
Had  I  had  a  little  more  experience  with  geejse,  I  would 
have  at  once  arisen  from  my  blind  and  frightened  them 
away,  for  as  decoys  they  held  over  my  insignificant  dozen 
most  disastrously  to  me.  While  mentally  trying  to 
decide  how  I  would  get  a  shot  at  the  snowy  mass  of  birds 
at  the  end  of  the  field,  flock  after  flock  came  in  and 
joined  the  first  arrivals,  until  it  seemed  to  me  that  every 
white  goose  in  the  West  was  sitting  there  before  my 
eyes,  and,  for  all  the  execution  I  could  do  among  them, 
they  might  as  well  have  been  on  top  of  the  Rocky  Mount- 
ains. From  where  I  lay,  there  appeared  to  be  1,000,000 
of  them — there  were  probably  close  to  1,000  of  them— 
and  the  sight  they  made  in  the  bright  morning  sun  will 
never  be  forgotten.  I  tried  to  crawl  within  shooting  dis- 
tance, but  the  first  move  started  them,  and  my  two  loads 
of  No.  1's  sped  harmlessly  after  them. 

My  experience  is,  that  the  white-fronted  goose,  or 
"speckled  belly,"  as  they  are  termed  in  the  West,  is 
the  wildest  variety  in  the  family.  Unless  found  in 
abundance,  the  hunter  will  have  unsatisfactory  sport 
hunting  them  exclusively.  They  decoy  as  readily — if  the 
term  "readily"  may  be  used — to  Canada  geese  decoys 
as  to  those  of  their  own  kind.  The  fact  of  the  matter 
is,  they  are  very  hard  birds  to  decoy.  They  seem  to  be 
of  an  unsociable  nature,  and  pass  over  or  by  one's  decoys 
—may  be  to  alight  less  than  200  yards  away — with  the 
most  provoking  indifference.  Their  feeding-habits  are 
identically  the  same  as  the  Canadas.  When  their  roost- 
ing-places  and  feeding- grounds  lie  near  together,  they  fly 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  321 

low,  and,  if  abundant  in  numbers,  good  shooting  may  be 
had  by  locating  upon  an  elevated  piece  of  ground  in  line 
with  their  flight.  If  convenient,  it  is  a  good  plan  to  set 
out  decoys.  They  may  not  draw  them  in,  but  they  serve 
to  disarm  suspicion.  When  the  hunter  is  located  in  a 
stubble-field,  with  decoys  set  out,  these  birds  have  a 
provoking  habit  of  bearing  down  on  the  field  with  the 
speed  of  an  express  train,  seemingly  bound  straight  for  the 
decoys,  but  when  just  out  of  shooting  distance,  sheer  off, 
and  alight  but  a  short  distance  away.  When  up  to  such 
tricks,  carefully  note  from  which  direction  most  of  them 
come,  and  then  locate  yourself  100  yards  away  from 
your  decoys  in  that  direction.  This  will  bring  them 
between  you  and  the  decoys,  and  give  you  many  good 
opportunities,  if  you  are  properly  concealed  and  arise  to 
shoot  at  just  the  right  moment.  When  using  Canada 
geese  decoys,  and  they  act  in  this  manner,  the  novice  is 
apt  to  believe  that  if  he  but  had  decoys  after  their  own 
kind,  they  would  come  in  readily.  Well,  they  wouldn't 
do  anything  of  the  kind. 

The  sportsman  who  yearns  for  goose- shooting  will 
never  experience  its  delights  and  pleasures  to  the  utmost 
until  he  encounters  the  Canadas  and  the  Hutchins. 
While  almost  as  wary,  keen,  and  wild  as  any  bird  that 
flies,  they  decoy  readily  under  favorable  circumstances, 
and  the  sport  is  simply  magnificent. 

As  previously  stated,  it  is  probably  in  Dakota  that 
goose-shooting  is  to-day  seen  at  its  best,  though  by  no 
means  as  good  as  was  to  be  had  a  few  years  ago.  During 
the  years  of  1880-85,  the  goose-shooting  in  Dakota  was 
grand  almost  beyond  belief.  The  very  few  cultivated 
fields  of  grain  at  that  time — particularly  during  the 
earlier  years  mentioned — served  to  attract  the  great  body 
of  birds  then  in  the  country  during  their  southern  migra- 
tions, and  a  visit  to  any  one  of  them,  during  an  afternoon 
21 


322  UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

or  morning  flight,  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  secure 
splendid  shooting.  Decoys  were  not  then  necessary,  and 
a  blind  or  other  artificial  place  of  concealment  by  no 
means  indispensable.  You  could  fairly  "knock  'em 
down  with  clubs,"  so  plentiful  they  were,  and  so  little 
hunted.  They  were  a  terror  and  a  source  of  annoyance 
to  farmers,  picking  out  the  seed-grain  in  the  spring,  and 
making  a  ten-acre  field  of  corn,  in  the  fall,  look  as  though 
visited  by  a  hail-storm.  It  was  no  uncommon  occurrence 
for  the  geese  to  completely  ruin  a  field  of  corn  in  from 
two  to  three  days'  time,  leaving  so  little  that  it  was  not 
worth  gathering.  Even  nowadays,  an  isolated  piece  of 
corn,  left  uncut  and  not  shocked,  is  apt  to  fare  badly  at 
their  hands— or  bills,  rather. 

My  first  experience  with  wild  geese  in  Dakota  was  in 
the  fall  of  1883,  the  locality  the  same  as  that  in  which  I 
had  my  morning's  experience  with  the  white  geese.  A 
fellow  sportsman — whom  I  will  call  Tom — and  myself 
had  been  told  by  a  farmer  acquaintance  that  large  num- 
bers of  geese  came  into  his  wheat-stubble  every  after? 
noon — "thousands  of  'em,"  he  said.  The  next  afternoon 
found  us  in  the  immediate  vicinity  about  2.30  o'clock. 
We  knew  the  field  by  a  fresh  stack  of  straw  on  its  edge; 
then,  too,  we  knew  the  place  because  there  was  no  other 
stubble  for  several  miles  around.  The  spot  was  an  ele- 
vated piece  of  prairie,  in  full  view  of  White  Lake — a 
great  resort  for  ducks  and  geese  —and  a  more  likely  place 
for  the  sport  could  hardly  be  conceived.  The  day,  too, 
was  a  grand  one — one  of  those  perfect  October  days,  rarely 
seen  in  greater  loveliness  and  more  thoroughly  enjoyed 
than  upon  the  broad,  sweeping  prairies  of  Dakota.  The 
air  wras  heavily  impregnated  with  that  pure,  invigorating, 
life-giving  ozone  for  which  Dakota  is  so  justly  famous, 
and  a  better  day  for  the  anticipated  sport  could  not  well 
have  been  chosen. 


THE   WILD    GOOSE.  323 

It  is  such  days  as  these — in  Dakota,  the  rule  rather 
than  the  exception  all  through  the  autumn — that  gives 
to  goose-shooting  there  one  of  its  chiefest  charms. 
Despite  the  inevitable  disappointment  that  often  comes 
in  the  pursuit  of  these  wary,  uncertain  birds,  there  is, 
nevertheless,  that  absence  of  excessive  fatigue  more  or 
less  encountered  in  the  hunting  of  almost  ony  other  game 
bird.  It  is  a  decided  contrast  to  the  suffocating  heat  and 
eternal  mosquito-fighting  one  must  endure  in  search  of 
the  long-billed  woodcock;  or  the  climbing,  exhausting 
work  after  that  noble  bird,  the  ruffed  grouse;  or  the 
blinding,  burning  heat  of  an  August  day  on  prairie 
chickens;  or  the  wearisome  tramp,  tramp,  after  the  zig- 
zag snipe — which  always  is  flying  "  zag"  when  your  shot 
goes  "zig;"  or  the  briers  and  thorns  and  tiresome  march 
to  secure  the  little  brown  Bob  Whites;  or  the  cold,  wet, 
mud  and  general  discomforts  of  duck-shooting.  It  is  so 
great  a  contrast  to  all  these,  that  goose-shooting,  when 
the  game  is  fairly  plentiful,  may  be  termed  a  deliciously 
lazy  sport,  but  one  which,  while  it  does  not  exhaust  the 
physical  being,  tires  the  mind  and  tests  the  nerve  as  few 
things  can.  In  some  respects,  it  is  like  standing  on  a 
deer-drive.  The  birds  come  to  you;  you  do  not  go  to 
them.  But  when  they  do  come,  aye,  there's  the  rub. 
To  lay  in  some  large  stubble-field  on  one  of  these  lovely 
October  days,  with  just  enough  breeze  sweeping  across 
the  prairies  to  render  the  air  fragrant  and  bracing,  gives 
to  one  who  is  a  lover  of  Nature  an  indescribable  sense  of 
pleasure  that  nothing  can  take  away.  It  matters  little 
whether  he  has  a  feather  to  show  for  his  afternoon's  out- 
ing, he  has  enjoyed  himself,  and  that  thoroughly,  and 
his  evening  meal  and  night's  rest  is  the  sweeter  there- 
for. While  this  is  true  of  all  field  sports  to  a  certain 
extent,  yet  the  pure  air  and  bright  sun  of  the  Dakota 
prairies  on  an  autumn  day  gives  to  the  hunter  a  certain 


324  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

animation  and  buoyancy  of  spirits,  and  a  peculiar  sense 
of  enjoyment,  found  in  but  few  places. 

To  the  east,  two  miles  away,  White  Lake  lay  in  the 
gently  sloping  valley,  shining  like  a  massive  sheet  of 
silver.  As  we  busily  unloaded  our  trappings,  guns,  shell- 
boxes,  etc.,  the  sharp  eyes  of  my  companion,  ever 
on  the  alert  with  true  hunter's  instinct,  espied  a  low 
black  line — once  seen,  never  afterward  mistaken — rise 
slowly  over  the  lake.  With  a  warning  exclamation,  he 
grabbed  gun  and  shell-box,  and  started  on  a  dead  run  for 
the  field,  leaving  me  to  secure  the  horse,  and  come  on  after 
as  best  I  could.  As  he  passed  the  straw-pile,  he  hurriedly 
gathered  up  an  armful  of  straw,  and  then  made  another 
start  for  the  center  of  the  stubble  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  every  rod  or 
two  to  see  how  near  the  geese  were,  for  they  were  coming 
directly  toward  the  field.  Meanwhile,  I  was  not  asleep, 
but  before  I  could  get  ready  to  leave  the  buggy  in  fight- 
ing order,  the  geese  had  gotten  so  near  that  I  saw  it  was 
useless  to  attempt  to  get  into  the  stubble  in  advance  of 
them;  but  I  managed,  by  a  brisk  run,  to  reach  the  straw- 
stack,  in  hopes  that  they  would  swing  over  that  and  give 
me  a  shot,  in  which  I  was  not  disappointed.  On  they 
came,  about  fifty  of  them — Hutchins  geese — flying  nearly 
abreast,  and  not  over  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  and 
although  they  must  have  caught  sight  of  us  when  we  ran 
for  the  field,  seemingly  unconscious  of  any  danger. 
They  swung  directly  over  the  stack,  and  without  taking 
any  particular  aim — little  excited,  you  know — I  let  two 
loads  into  them,  and  down  tumbled  one,  with  a  thump  on 
the  ground  that,  as  it  came  to  my  ears,  produced  a  sensa- 
tion as  delightful  as  ever  experienced  in  the  field.  I  had 
killed  my  first  Dakota  goose.  As  the  big  fellows  passed 
out  over  Tom,  they  met  a  still  warmer  reception,  and  two 
of  their  number  fell  to  his  cooler  aim.  Before  we  had 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  325 

time  to  shake  hands  over  the  result,  and  form  a  mutual 
admiration  society,  another  flock  was  seen  approaching, 
and  with  a  rapidity  that  warned  us  to  get  to  cover  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  had  hardly  time  to  catch  up  an  armful  of 
straw,  and  get  into  the  stubble  and  lie  down,  before  they 
were  over  us.  Just  how  many  we  dropped  out  of  this 
flock  I  can  not  at  this  day  recall.  Perhaps  we  didn't  get 
any.  It  was  a  poor  time  for  book-keeping;  I  can  distinctly 
remember  that;  also  recollect  that  we  were  just  a  little  bit 
rattled  for  a  time.  The  ball  was  now  fairly  opened,  and 
how  the  geese  did  come  into  that  field  !  Never  before  or 
since  have  I  seen  geese  as  we  saw  them  that  day.  For 
another  such  an  opportunity  I  would  willingly  travel 
hundreds  of  miles.  For  an  hour  the  birds  came  in  over 
the  field  with  but  a  few  minutes  interval  between  the 
arrivals.  Within  the  hour,  and  before  we  left  the  vicinity, 
not  less  than  fifty  flocks  came  into  the  field,  averaging 
from  twenty  to  fifty  to  the  flock.  We  had  no  decoys,  no 
pits  dug,  and  no  blinds  of  any  kind.  We  simply  lay  on 
our  backs  in  the  stubble,  with  a  little  straw  over  our  legs, 
and  as  the  geese  would  come  in  and  circle  over  the  field, 
we  would  raise  up  to  a  sitting  posture  and  let  them  have 
it.  Often  they  would  be  too  high  for  effective  work,  and 
all  were  killed  at  long  distances.  Once  Tom  killed  three 
out  of  the  same  flock,  in  three  different  shots,  before  they 
could  get  away.  That  is  what  you  might  call  quick  work. 
We  exhausted  about  sixty  shells  each,  and  then,  of  course, 
had  to  quit.  We  had  seventeen  geese  to  show  for  them. 
Not  very  many  for  so  much  ammunition,  you  think? 
Well,  no,  but  under  the  conditions  we  labored  it  was  a 
fair  bag,  and  we  were  too  well  satisfied  to  complain;  but 
often  afterward  we  talked  over  that  afternoon's  sport,  and 
estimated  how  many  we  could  bring  to  the  earth  did  just 
such  an  opportunity  occur  again,  and  we  never  placed  it 
much  less  than  seventy-five.  We  found  it  impossible  to 


326  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

transport  the  seventeen  geese  to  town  in  our  small  buggy, 
even  after  tying  them  on,  and  had  to  dispose  of  some  of 
them  to  people  we  met  on  the  road. 

The  experience  we  had  that  afternoon,  though  never 
afterward  so  fully  realized,  was  by  no  means  an  uncom- 
mon one  at  that  time  and  during  the  few  years  preced- 
ing. Even  during  the  few  years  succeeding,  fields  of 
small  grain  and  corn  w^ere  occasionally  found  into  which 
the  geese  were  sure  to  come  in  large  numbers;  but  now- 
adays it  is  difficult  to  find  a  field  in  this  same  country  into 
which  there  is  a  reasonable  certainty  of  over  a  half-dozen 
flocks  coming,  more  often  less.  There  are  exceptions,  of 
course,  and  it  is  to  locate  those  favored  spots  that  taxes 
the  patience  and  time  of  the  hunter.  The  geese,  too,  are 
better  educated,  more  familiar  with  the  tactics  of  the 
enemy,  and  a  correct  knowledge  of  their  habits  is  abso- 
lutely essential  to  successful  sport. 

In  these  days,  the  best  shooting  in  South  Dakota  is 
found  in  the  counties  bordering  on  the  Missouri  River, 
particularly  Charles  Mix  and  Brule,  with  a  prefer- 
ence for  the  latter.  Bounded  for  over  100  miles  by 
the  ''Big  Muddy,"  parallel  with  the  course  of  which 
the  main  flight  of  the  geese  in  the  spring  and  fall  runs, 
the  frequent  sand-bars  and  "tow-heads" — small,  low- 
lying  islands  covered  by  little  willows  and  cotton- woods- 
afford  enticing  resting-places  and  roosting-beds  for  the 
geese.  To  follow  the  breaks  in  the  bluffs  out  to  the 
adjacent  feeding-grounds  in  the  corn  and  grain  fields  is 
natural,  and  it  is  here  that  the  sportsman  may  be  fairly 
sure  of  a  few  days'  happiness. 

Next  to  a  good  gun  and  properly  loaded  shells,  the 
first  essential  of  a  goose-hunting  expedition  is  decoys. 
Better  start  out  with  an  inferior  gun  and  shells  and  plenty 
of  good  decoys  than  a  §300  hammerless  and  no  decoys, 
or  poor  ones.  The  proper  decoys  are  what  are  called 


THE  WILD  GOOSE.  327 

"profiles,"  made  from  sheet-iron,  and  painted  to  resemble 
a  Canada  goose.  The  necks  and  supports  are  fastened  to 
the  bodies  by  rivets,  and  the  decoys  can  be  folded  up  to 
occupy  a  small  space.  A  dozen  of  them  are  enough  for 
one  pit  or  blind.  If  two  are  shooting,  it  is  better  to  have 
a  couple  of  dozen,  one  lot  for  each,  as  better  shooting  can 
be  had,  as  a  rule,  by  locating  either  in  separate  fields  or 
on  two  different  spots  in  the  same  field. 

In  searching  about  for  a  place  to  go  when  determined 
upon  a  fortnight' s  goose-shooting,  it  is  a  good  idea  to 
have  a  bag  of  salt  beside  you — figuratively  speaking — 
when  the  answers  to  your  numerous  inquiries  come  in  by 
mail.  You  will  need  a  few  grains  for  each  letter — usually 
— and  you  will  not  be  so  disappointed  then  when  you  reach 
the  hunting-grounds;  for,  on  the  best  of  grounds,  and 
in  the  most  likely  territory,  goose-shooting  is  very 
uncertain  sport,  and  is  becoming  more  so  every  year;  but 
if  you  are  bent  upon  having  a  little  experience  with  the 
geese,  let  me  suggest  that  you  make  your  trial  trip — upon 
paper — with  me.  It  may  save  you  a  needless  amount  of 
time  and  expense,  and  it  would  be  strange  were  not  your 
total  of  geese  larger. 

You  must  come  with  the  expectation  of  roughing  it 
if  necessary,  and  prepared  to  at  any  time  exchange  the 
fairly  comfortable  quarters  of  the  country  hotel  for  the 
humble  lodging  of  a  Bohemian  cabin,  or  a  night' s  roost 
in  his  barn — depending  somewhat  upon  the  size  of  the  fam- 
ily. "  Thought  you  said  goose-shooting  was  deliciously 
lazy  sport,"  did  I  hear  you  say  ?  Well,  yes,  er,  er — I  did 
— sometimes.  That  was  a  few  years  ago  I  had  reference 
to.  It  isn't  quite  so  "  deliciously  lazy  "  nowadays.  The 
birds  are  scarcer  and  wilder,  and  we  may  have  to  do 
considerable  traveling  and  roughing  to  find  them. 

I  want  you  to  bring  the  decoys,  as  previously  men- 
tioned, a  hunting-suit  of  dead  grass  color,  and  hat  to 


328  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

match,  plenty  of  heavy  under-clothing,  and  a  loose-fit- 
ting, warm  overcoat.  Be  sure  that  your  hunting-suit  and 
hat  is  light  enough  in  color.  Nine-tenths  of  the  regula- 
tion canvas  suits  are  too  dark.  About  the  gun,  it  does 
not  matter  as  to  size  and  weight.  A  twelve-gauge  will  do, 
but  a  ten-gauge  is  better,  and  an  eight-gauge  is  better  yet. 
The  principal  thing  is  to  hit  the  geese,  and  you  will  be 
more  certain  to  do  it  with  a  gun  that  you  are  accustomed 
to — be  it  light  or  heavy — than  one  you  are  unfamiliar 
with.  Everything  else  being  equal,  the  heavier  gun  is  the 
better. 

For  a  ten-gauge  gun,  the  best  all-round  load  for  geese  is 
five  drams  of  powder  and  one  ounce  of  No.  2  shot.  When 
they  come  in  well  to  the  decoys,  No.  4's  in  the  right  bar- 
rel and  No.  2's  in  the  left  is  about  the  thing.  Do  not 
be  misled  into  loading  any  larger  shot  under  any  circum- 
stances. A  few  loads  of  heavier  shot,  for  chance  shots  at 
long  distances,  would  not  be  out  of  place  in  your  car- 
tridge-box, and  always  have  a  few  dozen  shells  loaded 
with  6's  for  a  stray  prairie  chicken  or  jack-rabbit. 

Well,  suppose  you  put  in  an  appearance,  properly 
equipped,  about  November  1st,  and  find  me  somewhere 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Missouri  River,  in  South 
Dakota.  "  What  is  the  prospect  for  geese?"  is  your  first 
natural  inquiry.  It's  hard  to  tell;  we  will  have  to  do  a 
little  exploring  on  the  morrow.  I  do  not  make  a  practice 
of  questioning  farmers.  The  sources  of  information  thus 
taken  are  too  uncertain  in  results.  It  has  cost  me  many 
a  wild  goose  chase  to  learn  this.  Not  one  farmer  in  ten 
is  a  sportsman,  and  not  over  one  in  ten  hunt  at  all,  and 
only  an  insignificant  few  have  any  conception  of  what 
constitutes  satisfactory  shooting.  If  a  stray  flock  of 
geese  happens  to  alight  on  Mr.  Farmer's  stubble-field 
or  in  his  corn  some  morning  or  evening,  it  is  likely  that 
he  will  say  that "there's  piles  of  'em."  If  they  chance  to 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  329 

come  a  few  mornings  or  evenings  in  succession,  he  will 
tell  you  that  they  are  there  every  morning.  You  drive 
out  to  his  place,  and  find  that  only  one  flock  has  been 
feeding  on  his  farm  any  of  the  time,  at  which,  perhaps, 
you  get  an  indifferent  shot.  It  has  taken  a  ten -mile 
drive  before  daylight  on  a  cold,  frosty  morning  to  learn 
this,  and  as  you  slowly  pick  up  your  decoys,  and  place 
your  trappings  in  the  buggy,  you  naturally  fall  to  won- 
dering if  all  men  are  liars,  or  are  geese  uncertain.  As  the 
Bohemians  say,  ' '  I  tank  so. " 

So  we  go  to  the  livery  stable  in  the  morning,  and  secure 
a  light  driving  team,  with  a  buggy  or  wagon  to  match. 
We  will  put  in  but  one  box  of  a  dozen  decoys  to-day,  for 
the  chances  are  exceedingly  slim  for  an  opportunity  of 
setting  any  of  them  up,  or  securing  any  shooting  what- 
ever. This  is  more  of  an  exploring  trip  than  anything 
else,  remember.  If  we  find  any  geese  this  morning,  they 
will  either  be  in  the  stubbles  or  corn,  and  too  late  to  get  to 
work  on  them;  but  we  will  put  in  a  couple  of  shovels, 
for  we  may  want  to  use  them. 

We  have  traveled  nearly  all  the  morning,  and  most  of 
the  geese  we  have  seen  have  been  on  their  way  to  the 
river  from  their  morning  flight  for  food.  You  will 
notice  that  they  all  fly  in  that  peculiar  drag-shape  so 
familiar  from  pictures  you  have  seen.  This  is  always 
their  manner  of  flight  when  bound  for  some  particular 
locality.  When  flying  across  the  country  in  search  of 
food,  with  no  definite  spot  in  view,  they  move  in  a  low, 
sweeping,  undulating  line,  and  nearly  abreast — now  ris- 
ing high  in  the  air  at  some  suspicious  object  below,  now 
swerving  down  to  within  twenty  feet  of  the  ground,  only 
to  arise  again  farther  on,  until  lost  to  sight  in  the  distant 
horizon. 

The  geese  we  have  seen  hurrying  for  a  drink  in  the 
river  will  be  coming  back  again  this  afternoon.  As  this 


330  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

is  our  first  trip  out,  of  course  it  is  impossible  to  tell  just 
what  time  to  look  for  them;  but  it  is  perfectly  safe  to 
say  that  it  will  be  at  the  same  time  as  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  that  it  will  be  the  same  time  to-morrow  after- 
noon, for  it  is  a  remarkable  peculiarity  of  wild  geese 
that  they  leave  their  roosting-grounds  and  go  out  to 
feed  with  a  regularity  truly  wonderful.  I  have  fre- 
quently timed  their  afternoon  nights  so  accurately  that 
I  would  not  have  five  minutes  to  wait  after  setting  up  my 
decoys. 

"  Whoa!" 

Look  at  that  stubble-field  yonder!  it's  full  of  'em,  just 
as  sure  as  you're  alive.  What!  want  to  get  out  and 
make  a  sneak  on  them?  My  dear  fellow,  you  couldn't 
get  within  rifle-shot  of  them  to  save  your  life.  The  grass 
is  high,  to  be  sure,  but  the  stubble-field  is  much  larger 
than  it  looks  from  this  distance;  they  are  near  the  center 
of  it,  and  if  you  could  crawl  to  its  edge  without  being 
discovered — which  is  extremely  improbable — you  would 
still  be  150  yards  away.  Take  my  advice  now,  as  well  as 
hereafter;  don't  ever  waste  your  time  trying  to  creep 
upon  geese  sitting  either  on  a  stubble  or  in  a  corn-field. 
It  is  an  almost  impossible  task. 

There  they  go!  They  got  suspicious  at  our  stopping; 
evidence  to  them  that  we  were  plotting  them  no  good. 
Lots  of  them,  are  there  not?  Must  be  a  dozen  or  twenty 
big  flocks  in  that  outfit.  They  are  going  to  the  river. 
Let  us  drive  over  and  take  a  look  at  the  field.  Had  we 
kept  on  driving,  they  would  not  have  taken  flight,  unless 
we  drove  very  close  to  them.  When  there  is  a  chance  to 
make  a  sneak  on  them,  the  team  must  not  be  stopped,  but 
the  shooter  drop  out  of  the  wagon  into  the  grass  while 
the  team  is  moving;  and  while  the  team  and  driver 
endeavor  to  retain  the  attention  of  the  geese,  the  hunter 
crawls  up  on  them  from  an  opposite  direction.  We 


THE   WILD   GOOSK.  331 

reach  the  field,  and  find,  upon  looking  it  over  carefully, 
that  while  it  does  not  give  evidence  of  having  been  a 
regular  feeding-ground  for  any  considerable  length  of 
time,  vet  it  is  a  likely  looking  spot — not  a  house  within  a 
mile  of  it,  and  away  from  any  road.  It  is  almost  noon, 
the  sun  is  getting  hot,  and  taking  everything  into  consid- 
eration, we  might  as  well  halt  right  here  for  a  time.  We 
may  get  some  good  shooting  here  this  afternoon,  or 
toward  evening.  We  will  unload  our  decoys  and  shovels, 
and  drive  over  into  that  swale  a  half-mile  away,  take  the 
horses  from  the  buggy,  and  while  they  get  a  little  fresh 
grass,  we  will  sample  the  contents  of  the  lunch-basket, 
which,  aside  from  the  substantial,  contains  a  few  bottles 
of  ginger  ale — the  best  drink  for  prairie  hunting  you  can 
find. 

As  we  have  got  several  hours  to  dispose  of  here,  per- 
haps no  better  opportunity  will  come  to  give  you  a  few 
hints  on  goose-shooting  in  general,  flavored,  may  be,  with 
some  interesting  personal  reminiscences. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  quite  a  science  in  setting  up 
decoys  properly,  and  in  locating  or  arranging  your  pit  or 
blind  in  connection  with  them.  The  decoys  should  be 
set  at  least  ten  feet  apart,  with  the  face  of  the  profiles 
toward  the  direction  from  which  the  geese  are  most  likely 
to  come.  A  part  of  the  decoys  want  to  be  set  at  right 
angles  to  the  others,  of  course,  so  that  the  sides  of  some 
of  them  show  from  .any  direction.  When  set  out  ten  feet 
apart,  they  will  look  pretty  well  spread  out;  but  if  you 
will  step  off  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  or  so,  they  will 
look  much  more  like  a  genuine  flock  of  geese  than  when 
set  closer  together.  It  is  strange  how  life-like  they  look 
when  set  out  properly.  I  have  had  mine  crawled  upon 
and  shot  at  on  two  different  occasions,  much  to  my 
amusement.  They  present  a  much  more  natural  appear- 
ance than  a  decoy-duck,  I  think.  By  the  way,  let  me 


332  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

tell  you  how  to  "catch  on''  to  decoy-ducks  when  puzzled 
over  the  matter.  If  you  will  notice,  a"  decoy-duck  always 
rocks  with  the  action  of  the  waves  or  ripples  on  the 
water;  a  live  duck  does  not,  but  retains  a  perfect  perpen- 
dicular. In  setting  out  your  geese  decoys,  avoid  setting 
them  with  heads  in  one  direction.  This  is  the  position 
the  geese  assume  when  uneasy,  or  about  to  take  flight, 
and  is  not  such  as  to  gain  the  confidence  of  a  passing 
flock.  If  shooting  alone,  and  there  is  a  breeze  blowing, 
locate  yourself  about  thirty  yards  on  the  leeward  side  of 
the  decoys.  The  reason  of  this  is  obvious.  In  common 
with  all  wild  fowl,  geese  always  alight  against  the  wind. 
By  being  on  the  leeward  side,  they  will,  when  through 
circling  around  the  field,  fly  over  you  with  set  wings 
preparatory  to  settling  among  the  decoys,  and  give  you  a 
much  better  shot  than  you  could  possibly  obtain  were 
you  on  the  opposite  side.  If  you.  have  a  companion  with 
you,  place  the  decoys  between  you,  and  locate  your  pits 
or  blinds  so  that  the  geese  will  fly  between  you,  as  they 
come  into  the  decoys  toward  'the  wind.  You  then  get  a 
deadly  cross-fire  on  them. 

A  friend  and  myself  were  thus  fixed  one  afternoon 
when  a  flock  of  five  Hutchins  geese  came  in.  We  killed 
them  all.  In  a  few  minutes,  another  flock  of  seven  came 
in,  and  out  of  them  we  knocked  down  six.  The  poor, 
lone  goose  remaining  went  across  the  field,  turned  and 
came  back  to  the  decoys,  and  we  downed  him.  On 
another  occasion  we  wiped  out  a  flock  of  thirteen  in 
much  the  same  manner — the  geese  returning  to  the  decoys 
the  second  time.  When  not  much  hunted,  it  is  a  common 
occurrence  for  them  to  act  in  this  manner,  if  the  hunter 
or  hunters  drop  into  concealment  immediately  after  the 
first  volley.  Otherwise  a  very  suspicious  and  wary  bird, 
the  wild  goose  decoys  more  readily  than  any  other.  Let 
me  relate  an  instance.  I  was  shooting  in  a  stubble  one 


(333) 


334  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

afternoon,  and  lying  on  my  back,  with  my  feet  to  the 
decoys.  I  caught  sight  of  a  flock  of  twenty  or  more 
coming  into  the  field  directly  toward  me,  and  in  line  with 
the  direction  in  which  I  was  lying.  After  coming  to 
within  a  100  yards  or  so  of  the  decoys,  they  suddenly 
stopped,  and  there  they  hung  in  mid-air,  neither  advanc- 
ing nor  receding.  After  watching  their  strange  actions  for 
a  moment  or  two,  I  became  satisfied  that  there  was  some- 
thing unusual  behind  and  beyond  me  to  cause  it,  and 
cautiously  raising  and  turning  my  head,  I  looked  around. 
There  sat  a  boy  on  a  mule,  not  fifty  yards  away,  evidently 
waiting  to  see  me  kill  some  of  those  geese.  I  told  him,  in 
language  more  forcible  than  elegant,  that  I  would  like  to 
have  him  make  himself  scarce,  which  he  did  in  a  hurry; 
and  he  had  no  sooner  left  the  field,  when  the  geese,  which 
must  have  seen  me  when  I  raised  up  to  read  the  riot  act 
to  the  boy,  came  right  into  th^  decoys,  and  I  bagged  a 
couple  of  them. 

No,  I  do  not  always  dig  a  pit.  In  fact,  I  rarely  dig 
one.  While  much  more  effective  shooting  can  be  done 
from  a  pit,  it  is  considerable  work  to  make  one  large 
enough  for  practical  purposes,  and  unless  I  am  positive 
that  the  field  selected  will  be  visited  by  enough  flocks  to 
pay  for  the  work,  I  do  not  use  the  shovel.  If  I  can  not 
find  a  likely  hiding-spot  on  the  edge  of  a  field,  I  select 
the  next  best  location  in  the  stubble,  and,  with  a  titmble- 
weed  or  two  and  a  little  old  hay  or  straw,  manage  to  fool 
'em  completely.  It  is  a  fact,  nevertheless,  that  this 
manner  of  shooting  has  its  disadvantages,  particularly  to 
one  unaccustomed  to  goose-shooting.  In  shooting  from 
such  a  position,  it  is  absolutely  important  that  the 
shooter  lie  as  motionless  as  the  stubble  which  surrounds 
him  as  the  geese  approach,  never  moving  a  muscle  until 
the  right  moment  comes  to  arise  and  shoot.  When  the 
geese  come  in  from  one  certain  direction,  this  is  not  a 


THE  WILD   GOOSE.  335 

difficult  thing  to  do,  but  when  as  liable  to  come  into  the 
field  from  one  direction  as  another,  one  must  be  some- 
thing of  a  contortionist  and  acrobat  to  be  in  the  best 
position  to  shoot  every  time.  It  is  also  much  more 
difficult  to  judge  of  distances  while  lying  flat  in  a  stubble, 
or  below  it,  than  when  sitting  upright  in  a  pit.  This 
reminds  me  that  the  hardest  lesson  you  will  find  to  learn 
is  to  know  when  the  geese  are  within  reasonable  killing 
distance.  Ordinarily,  a  flock  of  geese  100  yards  away  do 
not  look  to  be  over  fifty,  and  the  deception  is  even  greater 
when  coming  head  on.  You  will  find  your  greatest  fault 
and  lack  of  success — if  success  is  lacking — will  be  due 
to  shooting  too  soon.  I  can  not  impress  this  fact  too 
strongly.  Let  them  come  in.  When  once  headed  for  the 
decoys,  let  them  approach  as  close  as  they  will  before  you 
move  a  muscle  to  shoot.  When  they  sheer  off,  or  have 
gotten  as  near  to  you  as  it,is  possible  for  them  to  get,  then 
let  them  have  it.  Just  as  long  as  they  keep  approaching, 
don'  tyou  move,  no  matter  if  you  are  positive  that  they 
are  within  fifty  feet  of  you;  otherwise  you  are  extremely 
liable  to  discover  that  as  a  goose-hunter  you  are  not  a 
glittering  success.  Often  the  geese  will  come  into  a  field, 
and  pass  within  100  yards  or  so  of  the  decoys  with 
the  appearance  of  not  having  seen  them,  or,  if  they  have, 
with  no  intention  of  coming  any  nearer — something  after 
the  manner  of  canvas-back  ducks.  Keep  low,  give  them 
time  to  circle  around  a  few  times  to  investigate  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  things,  and  your  patience  will  be 
rewarded.  They  are  just  as  anxious  to  see  what  that 
other  flock  (decoys)  have  got  for  supper  as  you  are  to 
have  them.  Don't  spoil  it  all. 

The  flight  of  wild  geese  is  very  deceptive.  To  the 
casual  observer,  they  have  the  appearance  of  a  slow  and 
lazy  flight.  Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  truth. 
The  rapidity  with  which  they  can  cover  five  or  ten  miles 


336  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

of  space  is  simply  astonishing.  It  will  be  well  for  you  to 
remember  this  when  you  come  to  shooting  at  them  over 
decoys,  instead  of  deluding  yourself  with  the  idea  that 
because  they  are  a  big  bird  you  could  not  miss  one  if  you 
tried.  You  heard  about  the  chap,  didn'  t  you,  that  com- 
plained that  "all  the  rabbits  hereabouts  are  about  six 
inches  too  short  \ ' '  You  have  had  enough  experience  on 
other  game  birds  to  know  that  when  a  flock  arises  you 
must  single  out  your  bird  instead  of  shooting  into  the 
flock  at  random.  Well,  the  same  rule  holds  good  on 
goose-shooting.  Always  try,  too,  to  get  your  gun  on  one 
in  a  bunch;  if  you  miss  it,  you  may  catch  one  next  to  it, 
and  you  stand  a  good  chance  of  knocking  down  two  or 
more  with  one  barrel.  If  a  goose  falls  on  the  stubble  or 
prairie  out  of  your  sight,  go  and  get  it  at  once,  unless 
there  are  particular  reasons  why  you  should  not  leave 
your  position.  Often  birds  that  you  may  think  fell  stone 
dead  are  only  winged  or  badly  wounded,  and  the  read- 
iness and  facility  with  which  a  wounded  goose  will  hide 
in  six  inches  of  grass  is  astonishing.  I  have  had  wounded 
geese  get  away  from  me  on  a  prairie  under  circumstances 
in  which  it  would  not  seem  possible  for  a  quail  to  escape. 

Just  reach  me  another  sandwich,  please. 

Did  I  ever  use  live  decoys  ?  Well,  yes,  after  a  fash- 
ion. I  do  not  think  much  of  them,  and,  furthermore,  I 
never  talked  with  an  experienced  goose-hunter  who  did. 
We  read  considerable  about  them  in  books  and  writings 
on  field  sports,  but  my  own  experience  and  the  experi- 
ence of  others  leads  me  to  believe  that  live  geese  decoys 
are  a  delusion  and  a  fraud.  All  that  I  have  ever  seen, 
when  taken  into  a  field  and  picketed  out,  would  go  the 
length  of  the  string,  and  then  stretch  flat  on  the  ground 
and  lie  there.  A  friend  of  mine  had  three  which,  when 
at  home  in  the  yard,  would  pretty  near  burst  their 
throats  calling  when  a  flock  went  over  the  house,  but 


THE  WILD   GOOSE.  337 

when  taken  into  a  field  would  act  just  as  stated.  Winged 
geese,  if  placed  among  the  decoys,  will  remain  with  them 
of  their  own  accord,  and  it  is  amusing,  often,  to  watch 
them.  When  you  approach  the  decoys  they  will  scamper 
off  across  the  field,  and  as  often  return  after  you  are  hid- 
den in  your  pit  or  blind;  but  I  never  saw  or  knew  of 
one  so  situated  to  call  a  passing  flock,  or  do  anything 
else  but  lie  flat  on  the  ground  when  a  flock  was  hovering 
near. 

Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  we  had  better  be  mov- 
ing toward  the  field.  By  the  time  we  get  our  pits  dug 
and  the  decoys  set  out,  it  will  be  time  for  the  geese  to  be 
coming  out  for  supper. 

Here  we  are.  You  dig  your  pit  here,  and  I  will  dig 
mine  over  there.  Dig  it  with  a  seat  in  one  end,  and  deep 
enough  so  that  when  sitting  down  your  shoulders  will  be 
about  on  a  line  with  the  stubble.  After  your  pit  is  com- 
pleted, go  and  get  a  small  armful  of  that  old  hay  on  the 
edge  of  the  stubble  and  strew  it  around  the  edge 
of  the  pit,  but  not  too  thickly — just  enough  to  cover 
the  fresh  dirt.  I  have  given  you  the  best  side,  for,  as  the 
geese  come  in  over  the  decoys  against  the  wind,  you  will 
be  able  to  swing  your  gun  from  right  to  left  instead  of 
the  more  awkward  way,  from  left  to  right. 

There,  everything  is  in  ship-shape  style,  as  they  say 
on  the  water,  and  now  if  the  geese  will  only  make  us  a 
few  friendly  - 

Mark  west !  See  them,  eh  ?  All  right.  Now  bear  in 
mind  what  I  told  you  at  luncheon.  Let  them  come  in  if 
they  come  this  way. 

They  didn't  come  in,  did  they?  though  they  must  have 
heard  me  calling.  Got  more  important  business  farther 
east;  I  saw  them  go  down  in  a  stubble  about  a  mile  away. 
There  comes  another  flock,  and  there's  another  right 

behind  it.    Get  down ! 
22 


338  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

All  right.  You  know  how  to  keep  down,  that's  cer- 
tain. Both  those  flocks  have  gone  where  the  first  one 
went.  Wish  we  were  over  there,  but  it's  too  late  to  make 
a  change  now.  Get  down! 

This  is  interesting,  isn't  it,  to  sit  in  these  pits  and 
watch  flock  after  flock  pass  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
and  go  to  another  field?  That  is  a  regular  feeding-ground 
where  they  have  gone.  You  will  notice  that  each  flock 
turns  neither  to  the  right  or  left,  but  flies  straight  to  that 
one  field,  and  that,  too,  without  having  seen  any  other 
flock  go  there.  That  is  a  sure  sign  of  a  regular  feeding- 
ground.  Such  a  place  is  absolutely  sure  of  affording 
good  shooting  for  several  consecutive  mornings  or  even- 
ings, depending  somewhat  upon  whether  they  visit  the 
field  once  or  twice  a  day,  and  when.  To-morrow  after- 
noon I  want  you  to  come  out  to  this  field.  I  may  not  be. 
able  to  get  away  and  go  with  you,  and  it  is  not  necessary 
that  I  should.  After  what  you  have  seen  to-day,  and 
the  few  hints  I  have  given  you,  you  can  scarcely  fail  to 
bring  in  a  dozen  geese  to-morrow  night.  Where  are  the 
geese  that  were  in  this  field  this  morning?  You  mean  the 
ones  we  frightened  away,  I  supposed  You  tell  I  don't 
know;  possibly  we  might  have  seen  some  of  them  in  the 
flock  going  over  to  that  other  field.  They  probably 
dropped  in  here  by  chance  this  morning.  Some  flock 
happened  to  stop  here,  and  others  saw  them  and  followed 
suit.  You  don' t  understand  why  they  should  go  a  mile 
or  two  farther  on  for  no  better  food.  Bless  your  soul! 
neither  does  anyone  else.  There  is  just  as  good  feeding- 
grounds  within  a  mile  of  the  river  as  there  is  out  here 
ten  miles  away,  and  possibly  better.  Why  they  fly 
across  ten  or  fifteen  miles  of  good  feeding-grounds  for 
something  no  better,  no  man  can  find  out,  but  do  it  they 
do,  and  elsewhere  as  well  as  in  Dakota.  Perhaps  they 
like  to  work  up  an  appetite. 


THE   WILD   GOOSE.  339 

Well,  the  show  is  over,  and  we  might  as  well  pull  up 
and  go  home.  By  staying  here  an  hour  longer  we  might 
catch  a  goose  or  two  from  some  stray  flock,  but  it  would 
hardly  pay.  You  will  have  all  the  fun  you  want  to-mor- 
row. We  will  drive  over  and  locate  that  field  exactly, 
so  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding  it  again,  stop  and 
dig  a  pit  for  you,  and  then  we  will  take  the  nearest  road 
home.  It's  a  little  hard  luck  to  go  back  .without  a 
feather,  but  if  you  hunt  geese  much,  you  will  soon  learn 
not  to  mind  a  day  like  this.  Remember,  all  is  not  lost. 
What  you  lack  in  game,  you  have  gained  in  knowl- 
edge. 

If  the  reader  has  patiently  followed  me  thus  far,  not 
much  can  be  added  that  will  prove  either  interesting  or 
instructive.  Possibly  it  would  have  added  to  the  imag- 
inative afternoon's  hunt  to  have  capped  it  with  a  score 
or  more  of  geese,  but  I  have  written  it  from  many  days' 
actual  experience. 

As  the  season  advances,  along  toward  the  middle  of 
November  and  Thanksgiving,  the  geese  begin  to  seek  the 
corn-fields,  and  the  hunting  of  them  becomes  more 
tinged  with  disappointment  than  pleasure.  About  this 
time  they  make  but  one  trip  a  day  for  food,  that  in  the 
morning,  and  they  generally  remain  out  all  day.  After 
feeding,  they  will  seek  some  bare  knoll  or  burnt  piece  of 
prairie  in  the  vicinity  of  the  corn-field  for  a  loafing-place 
until  again  hungry.  They  never  alight  in  a  corn-field, 
but  always  on  the  edge,  and  walk  in.  They  prefer  corn 
planted  upon  sod  (first  breaking),  in  that  such  fields  of 
corn  are  usually  of  thin  stand,  the  stalks  short,  and  the 
ears  easily  reached,  and  they  can  readily  see  around  and 
about  them.  At  this  time  of  year  they  do  not  decoy 
readily,  each  flock  seeming  to  prefer  its  own  company. 
When  the  geese  are  known  to  be  feeding  upon  a  certain 
field  of  corn,  make  a  blind,  about  fifty  feet  from  its  edge, 


340  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

by  pulling  up  several  hills  of  corn  and  standing  them 
together  ;  then  set  the  decoys  out  a  rod  or  two  from  the 
edge  of  the  corn.  If  a  stubble  adjoins  the  field,  set  them 
on  the  stubble.  While  it  is  not  probable  that  they  will 
come  in  directly  to  the  decoys,  yet  they  will  be  less  sus- 
picious upon  seeing  what,  to  them,  appears  to  be  another 
flock. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year,  wild  geese  are  so  uncertain 
in  their  habits,  and  so  erratic  in  their  flights,  in  Nebraska 
and  Dakota,  that  even  were  not  spring  shooting  to  be 
discountenanced  on  general  principles,  it  is  poor  sport 
hunting  them.  I  have  never  known  them  to  decoy  at 
this  season  of  the  year;  and  they  never  seem  to  be  twice 
in  the  same  place. 

The  general  directions  I  have  given  for  hunting  the 
wild  goose  in  Dakota,  will  apply  to  Nebraska  and  all 
the  Western  States  and  Territories,  where  their  habits  are 
nearly  the  same.  Years  ago,  the  best  goose -shooting  in 
the  United  States  was  to  be  had  along  the  Platte  River, 
in  Nebraska.  Aside  from  excellent  stubble-field  and  corn- 
field shooting,  there  was  superb  shooting  on  the  sand- 
bars of  the  river.  The  usual  method  of  building  a  blind 
on  a  sand-bar  is  to  sink  a  barrel,  or  water-tight  box,  in 
the  sand,  around  which  is  thrown  pieces  of  drift- Avood  or 
brush,  the  whole  so  constructed  as  to  leave  the  imme- 
diate surroundings  as  natural  and  undisturbed  as  possible. 
If  the  box  is  clear  from  brush  or  debris,  none  should  be 
employed  in  arranging  the  blind.  Into  the  box — a  shal- 
low one — can  be  placed  some  hay  for  the  hunter  to  lie 
on,  and  around  about  it  are  placed  the  decoys.  If  the 
weather  is  clear  and  fair,  and  particularly  on  moonlight 
nights,  the  geese  prolong  their  afternoon  visits  to  the 
stubbles  until  late  in  the  evening,  and  the  concealed 
hunter  often  gets  fine  shooting  by  the  light  of  the 
moon. 


THE    WILD   GOOSE.  341 

The  sportsman  whose  business  is  such  that  a  goose- 
hunt  is  only  permissible  during  the  winter  months  will  find 
a  visit  to  Texas  filled  with  pleasant  results.  The  geese 
generally  arrive  in  that  locality  about  November  1st,  and 
keep  coming  until  the  middle  of  December.  The  natives 
will  tell  you  that  but  three  varieties  winter  there,  namely, 
the  Canadas  and  the  white  and  black  brant.  As  in 
many  other  localities,  eveiy  thing  in  the  goose  family  is 
a  brant  except  the  Canadas.  In  Texas  the  geese  resort 
to  the  pond-holes  and  marshy  grounds  as  a  loafing-place 
and  to  the  high,  dry,  upland  prairies  for  feed.  The  hours 
for  feeding  are  the  same  as  in  more  northern  localities. 
They  feed  chiefly  on  the  young  sprouts  of  green  grass 
and  such  insects  as  they  can  pick  up  on  the  prairie.  As 
the  prairies  are  studded  all  over  with  pond-holes  and 
marshes  in  many  portions  of  the  State,  the  geese  have  no 
trouble  in  finding  ample  feeding-grounds  in  close  prox- 
imity to  their  roosting-places;  hence  they  fly  very  low  in 
going  and  coming,  and  in  moving  about  from  place  to 
place  in  search  of  food,  in  localities  where  not  much 
hunted,  they  also  fly  close  to  the  ground,  not  over  twenty 
or  thirty  feet  high.  The  sportsman  can  therefore  find 
good  shooting  by  roaming  the  prairies  in  a  hap-hazard 
manner,  and  keeping  both  eyes  open  for  passing  flocks. 
The  general  plan  of  hunting  them,  however,  and  the  most 
successful  one,  is  by  building  a  blind  upon  the  shore  of 
some  marshy  place,  or,  if  the  indications  are  better,  in 
the  center.  If  the  hunter  is  supplied  with  profile  decoys, 
they  can  be  set  out  by  binding  a  stick  to  the  supporting 
rod,  and  shoving  it  into  the  mud,  until  the  decoy  presents 
a  life-like  appearance.  A  dead  goose  may  be  set  up  as  a 
decoy  by  pushing  one  end  of  a  stick  in  the  mud  and  the 
other  end,  sharpened,  up  through  the  neck  into  the  head. 
This  is  easier  written  than  done,  however,  as  it  is  quite  a 
trick  to  set  up  a  dead  goose  or  duck  so  that  it  will  look 


342 


UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 


life-like;  but  practice  and  a  little  patience  will  soon 
enable  the  amateur  to  do  the  work  successfully.  Inci- 
dentally— and  conclusively — it  is  such  seemingly  trifling- 
things  that  characterize  the  successful  sportsman.  As 
in  everything  else,  it  is  the  sum  total  of  the  little  details 
that  go  to  make  a  perfect  whole. 


WILD    TURKEY    SHOOTING. 


BY  GEORGE  W.  BAIXES  ("FrsiL"). 


HE  Meleagris  gallopavo  is  essentially  an 
American  fowl,  and  in  these  late  years 
has  come  to  be  a  genuine  southerner, 
being  found  but  seldom  in  sections 
north  of  the  historic  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line.  He  flourishes  also  in  Mexico  and 
Central  America. 
As  this  article  is  not  designed  nor  desired  to  be  a 
treatise,  I  shall  not  take  up  space  with  facts  and  observa- 
tions easily  found  in  standard  works  on  natural  history 
and  in  encyclopedias.  The  wild  turkey  is  a  turkey, 
and  compares  with  the  domestic  fowl  about  as  a  game 
chicken  does  with  the  common  mixed-blooded  dunghill, 
being  a  trimmer  and  more  symmetrical  fowl,  with  longer 
neck,  wings,  and  legs.  The  wild  turkey  varies  slightly 
in  color  according  to  the  various  sections  where  found, 
the  lighter  shades  predominating  as  the  equator  is  neared. 
The  hen  is  a  dusty-brown  color  on  the  breast,  neck,  and 
upper  back,  and  the  lower  back  is  a  dirty  gray,  or  rusty 
brown.  The  gobbler  is  about  the  same  color  of  the  hen, 
excej)t  on  the  breast,  neck,  and  upper  back,  which  are  a 
glossy,  green-tinted  black,  or  silky,  purplish  hue.  Some- 
times, as  he  stands  in  the  sun,  he  appears  to  be  a  rich 
bronze.  Generally  the  heads  of  wild  turkeys  are  light 
bluish  color,  often  more  white  than  blue,  especially  with 
gobblers  in  the  spring,  they  having  the  power  to  change 
color  from  blue  to  white  or  red  at  will.  Both  hens  and 

(343) 


344  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

gobblers  have  large  wattles,  that  are  nearly  always  white. 
In  the  spring,  an  ardent  gobbler's  wattles  are  red. 
Gobblers  are  always  armed  with  spurs,  and  ornamented 
with  'beards,  varying  in  length  according  to  age,  the 
former  sometimes  measuring  an  inch  and  a  quarter  long 
and  the  latter  twelve  inches.  Hens  sometimes  have 
beards,  but  they  are  not  very  common;  on  my  last  turkey- 
hunt,  of  the  three  hens  bagged,  two  wore  beards.  I  have 
seen  a  few  gobblers  in  my  long  experience  that  had  more 
than  one  beard— one  that  had  three.  In  weight,  the  wild 
and  domestic  turkeys  are  about  the  same,  the  tendency 
of  the  former  being  to  grow  slightly  heavier  with  the 
gobblers,  and  with  the  hens  lighter.  Sixteen  pounds  for 
gobblers  and  eight  for  hens,  I  believe  to  be  a  fair  average 
in  weight.  Still  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  gobblers  that 
will  pull  the  scales  to  twenty  pounds,  and  sometimes — 
but  rarely — one  will  be  brought  in  that  will  weigh  twenty- 
five,  six,  or  seven.  I  myself  killed  in  one  day  two  that 
weighed  twenty-five  and  twenty -seven,  respectively.  A 
friend  of  mine  in  the  Indian  Territory  tells  of  killing  one 
that  tipped  the  beam  at  twenty-eight;  and  Prof.  J.  L. 
Smith,  one  of  the  Texas  pioneers,  and  one  of  the  most 
truthful  men  I  ever  knew,  told  me  of  one  he  killed  that 
weighed  even  thirty  pounds. 

The  wild  turkey  is  a  much  hardier  and  stronger  fowl 
than  those  we  rear  at  home,  and  so  the  gobblers  put 
more  vim  into  their  gobbling  and  strutting.  How  the 
gobbler  makes  that  thunder-like  sound  when  he  struts,  I 
do  not  know,  but  am  certain  that  it  is  not  by  scraping 
his  wings  on  the  ground,  since  he  struts  as  loudly  in  a 
tree,  where  his  wings  touch  nothing,  and  where  he  can 
not  walk  at  all,  as  when  on  the  ground.  I  am  also  sure 
that  his  crop,  puffed  full  of  air,  is  an  important  factor, 
since  no  turkey  ever  struts  without  this.  It  is  easy  to 
distinguish  a  fat  gobbler  from  a  poor  one,  or  an  old  one 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING. 


345 


from  a  young  one,  by  the  character  of  his  gobbling.  If  the 
hunter  hears  several  gobblers,  and  wishes  to  select  the 
fattest,  let  him  go  after  the  one  whose  gobble  is  the 


THE  WILD  TURKEY.— Meleagris  ocfcllata. 


heaviest  and  most  muffled.     Beware  of  the  one  with  the 
tenor  voice,  especially  if  he  cuts  his  gobble  short. 

Wild  turkeys  always  go  in  Hocks  except  in  the  spring, 
and  often,  in  small  flocks,  then;  but  the  old  gobblers  will 


346  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

be  found  associating  together,  while  the  hens  and  young 
gobblers  will  be  together,  except  at  this  season. 

When  spring  fairly  opens,  the  flocks  break  up,  and 
the  breeding  season  begins.  The  old  hens  are  the  first  to 
go  off  and  make  their  nests,  always  followed  by  the 
gobblers  to  the  vicinity  where  they  are  going  to  hatch 
their  young.  Gobblers  always  open  the  love-making 
season,  the  hens  seeming  to  be  very  coy  at  first.  At  this 
time,  the  gobblers  fight  each  other  vigorously,  break,  up 
the  flocks,  scatter  out  over  the  country,  and  give  them- 
selves up  to  gobbling,  strutting,  and  rambling.  At  this 
early  period,  as  they  have  no  hens  with  them,  they  come 
to  call  very  promptly.  In  a  week  or  ten  days  the  flocks 
of  hens  break  up,  and  they  scatter  out  into  the  hills  to 
make  their  nests,  and  soon  become  "located,"  as  the  old 
hunters  say,  by  which  is  meant  that  they  settle  down  to 
a  certain  range  in  the  vicinity  of  their  nests.  At  this 
time  an  old  gobbler  is  very  apt  to  have  from  one  to  four 
— sometimes  more— hens  with  him,  and  he  manages  to 
have  them  pretty  well  bound  to  him,  so  that  they  are  not 
likely  to  go  off  to  other  gobblers.  They  know  his  gob- 
ble, and  go  to  him  when  they  hear  him.  Any  gobbler  in 
this  fortunate  situation  is  likely  to  be  very  hard  to  call 
up  by  the  hunter,  either  morning  or  evening.  The  best 
way  to  call  such  is  to  get  near  him  while  he  is  gobbling 
on  his  roost,  and  select  an  open  space  into  which  he  can 
and  will  be  likely  to  go  when  he  flies  down.  A  few 
low  yelps,  given  before  he  flies  down,  will  generally  bring 
him,  and  if  he  gobbles  to  call  promptly,  let  the  hunter 
yelp  no  more,  but  be  ready  for  business.  Nine  chances 
to  one,  he  will  go  in  shooting  distance  of  the  well-hid 
yelper  as  soon  as  he  is  off  his  roost,  especially  if  there  be 
an  open  spot  for  him  to  get  into;  for  he  likes  such  a  place 
early  in  the  morning,  before  there  is  much  light,  and  at 
this  season  he  is  apt  to  fly  down  very  early,  sometimes 


WILD   TURKEY    SHOOTING.  347 

while  it  is  very  dusky.  His  purpose  seems  to  be  to  get 
somewhere  near  the  hen,  and  wait  for  her  to  fly  down  to 
him.  The  hunter  will  find  it  very  fortunate  if  he  can  get 
on  an  open  hill-side  above  the  gobbler.  Those  gobblers 
that  are  unprovided  with  hens,  from  any  cause  whatever 
— and  where  turkeys  are  plentiful  there  will  always  be 
some  of  this  sort — are  easily  called  up  at  any  time,  morn- 
ings or  evenings. 

The  hen  lays  from  ten  to  fifteen  eggs,  in  a  rudely  con- 
structed nest,  scratched  out  in  the  ground,  and  filled  with 
leaves  or  grass.  The  eggs  are  always  covered  up  with 
leaves  or  grass  when  she  goes  away.  It  is  not  uncommon 
for  nests  to  be  made  near  houses,  roads,  and  in  fields  or 
orchards.  A  wheat,  oat,  or  barley  field  is  a  fine  place  for 
them.  The  period  of  incubation  is  twenty-eight  days. 
The  young  are  hardy,  active,  and  shy  from  the  first,  and 
in  two  or  three  weeks  are  able  to  fly  a  little,  from  which 
time  they  go  into  bushes,  and  soon  into  trees,  to  roost. 
The  mother  is  a  model  for  care  and  good  management,  and 
is  usually  very  successful  in  bringing  up  her  young.  Soon 
after  the  hens  begin  to  sit  upon  their  nests,  the  gobblers 
again  flock  together,  and  remain  so  until  the  next  spring. 
The  hens  also  drift  into  flocks,  with  their  young,  along  in 
August  and  September,  and  it  is  often  the  case  that  three 
or  four  broods  will  be  combined. 

Unquestionably,  the  wild  turkey  is  rapidly  decreasing 
in  this  country,  owing  chiefly  to  the  want  of  suitable 
game  laws,  and  the  murderous  work  of  the  market-hunter. 
My  opinion  is,  that  the  open  season  should  embrace  the 
months  of  November,  December,  January,  and  February 
alone.  I  know  that  many  will  object  to  being  shut  up 
during  the  gobbling  season,  but  I  see  no  good  reason  why 
other  game  should  be  protected  during  breeding-time 
and  the  turkey  not.  Fond  as  I  am  of  hunting  at  this  sea- 
son, I  am  ready  to  see  spring  shooting  forbidden.  The 


UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

one  reason  for  keeping  the  season  open  during  the  spring 
is  the  fact  that  comparatively  few  hens  are  killed  then; 
but  more  gobblers  are  than  at  any  other  time,  and  the 
killing  of  gobblers  in  any  section  does  not  materially 
interfere  with  breeding,  unless  all  should  be  killed,  which 
is  not  likely,  for  if  there  be  a  gobbler  in  the  country,  the 
hens  will  find  him  when  they  need  him,  and  he  is  such  a 
thorough  polygamist  that  he  will  file  no  objection.  One 
gobbler  can  fertilize  all  the  eggs  in  his  section,  and  then 
gobble  for  more.  Still,  I  can  not  resist  the  force  of  the 
fable  of  the  hen  (or  goose)  that  laid  the  golden  egg,  and 
can  not  see  why  the  turkey  should  not  have  just  as  fair  a 
chance  to  perpetuate  its  species  as  other  kinds  of  game. 
I  must  confess,  however,  that  I  would  listen  to  a  strong 
argument  in  faX'or  of  spring  shooting  at  gobblers  onl ij 
with  a  partial  ear,  and  my  great  fondness  for  pitting 
skill  against  turkey  wariness  would  prejudice  me  largely 
in  its  favor;  and,  if  not  convinced,  I  fear  I  should  be 
like  the  regulation  New  Year's  reformers— defer  reforma- 
tion until  next  year.  AVere  the  framing  of  a  law  left  to 
me,  there  would  be  great  danger  of  an  exception  or  two 
being  introduced,  as  is  reported  of  a  law  against  fire- 
hunting  for  deer  in  an  early  day  in  Arkansas.'  It  was 
said  that  a  representative  introduced  a  bill  on  this  sub- 
ject, when  the  most  influential  member,  an  inveterate 
fire-hunter,  made  a  vigorous  speech  in  its  favor,  and  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  he  would  vote  for  the  bill,  provided 
he  could  get  an  amendment  excepting  any  night  when 
it  was  "very  still,  very  dark,  and  a  leetle  misting  of 
rain. ' '  The  temptation  to  fire-hunt  on  such  a  night  was  too 
strong;  and  so  the  temptation  to  go  for  a  gobbler  would 
be  very  great  any  still,  clear  morning  in  the  early  spring, 
especially  if  a  light  shower  had  fallen  during  the  night. 
I  have  hunted  nearly  all  kinds  of  game  in  the  United 
States  and  Mexico,  from  the  buffalo  down  to  blackbirds, 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  349 

and  I  know  of  nothing  that  taxes  the  skill  and  patience 
of  the  hunter  more  than  the  wild  turkey.  It  is  wild,  and 
no  mistake.  It  is  also  wily.  It  has  the  keenest  eye  and 
quickest  ear  of  anything  I  have  hunted.  The  hunter 
must  know  turkeys  as  a  pilot  knows  the  channel,  if  he 
succeed  well.  He  must  have  a  keen  eye,  quick  decision, 
and  the  patience  of  a  statue.  Besides,  he  must  be  able  to 
''talk  turkey"  as  well  as  understand  it. 

For  turkey-shooting,  both  the  shot-gun  and  rifle  have 
their  advocates;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  both  have 
their  advantages.  I  like  both,  and  often  when  I  have 
one  I  wish  I  had  the  other.  The  ideal  turkey-gun  is  a 
three-barrel,  weighing  nine  or  ten  pounds.  I  speak  from 
experience.  The  rifle  ought  to  take  the  38-55  cartridge, 
and  must  be  an  accurate  shooter.  The  shot  barrels  ought  to 
be  ten-gauge,  and  be  loaded  with  4£  drams  of  powder  and 
1J  ounces  of  No.  6  shot  in  the  left  barrel,  and  five  drams 
of  powder  and  1£  ounces  00  shot  in  the  right.  They  must 
be  extra-good  shooters,  or  the  user  of  them  will  be  tempted 
to  say  ugly  words  quite  often.  At  all  distances  iinder 
forty  yards,  the  small  shot  should  be  fired,  at  the  necks 
of  turkeys,  just  under  their  heads,  and  the  large  shot,  at 
their  bodies,  all  distances  over  forty  and  up  to  sixty 
yards;  at  distances  beyond  these,  use  the  rifle.  When  I 
have  used  a  three-barrel,  I  seldom  fired  the  large  shot  at 
turkeys  at  all,  except  when  running,  flying,  or  on  the 
roost  when  it  was  too  dark  to  shoot  at  their  necks.  If  a 
turkey  was  not  near  enough  for  the  small  shot,  I  gen- 
erally used  the  rifle.  The  surest  load  ever  sent  after  a 
turkey  when  no  farther  than  forty  yards,  is  the  No.  6's, 
fired  at  the  neck. 

As  to  "callers,"  I  hardly  know  what  to  write,  since 
every  hunter  who  has  been  successful  with  any  particular 
kind  thinks  that  the  best  to  be  found  anywhere.  I  have  my- 
self used  seven  different  kinds  of  callers,  always  returning 


350  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

to  the  use  of  a  green  leaf,  especially  when  I  had  a  sharp 
gobbler  to  deal  with.  I  never  could  make  the  thin  rubber 
sheets  used  by  dentists  answer  my  purpose  so  well  as 
the  leaf.  For  a  beginner,  I  believe  there  is  no  caller  so 
easily  learned  to  use  as  one  made  as  follows:  Saw  out 
a  section  of  a  cow's  horn  two  inches  long,  the  larger  end 
being  about  two  inches  in  diameter,  and  plug  with  some 
hard,  wTell-seasoned  wood  the  smaller  end.  It  must  be  a 
perfect-fitting  plug,  very  tight,  and  about  half  an  inch 
thick.  Trim  out  the  open  end  of  the  horn  for  a  quarter 
of  an  inch,  until  the  edges  are  nearly  sharp;  and  then, 
with  glass  or  steel,  scrape  the  horn  on  the  outside  until 
it  is  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  thick  all  round.  Get  a 
four-penny  nail  with  a  very  large  head — the  larger  the 
better — and  drive  it  squarely  into  the  center  of  the  plug, 
on  the  outside,  taking  care  to  leave  a  full  inch  of  the 
nail  sticking  out  on  the  outside.  By  holding  this  in 
the  right  hand,  cupped  over  the  hollow  of  the  horn,  and 
scraping  the  nail  on  a  very  fine  but  rather  soft  whet- 
stone— a  razor  hone  is  best — a  good  call  is  produced, 
by  patient  and  intelligent  practice.  The  whetstone 
should  be  very  small  and  thin.  Practice  will  show  any- 
one how  to  use  this  kind  of  a  caller.  Always  hold  the 
nail  slightly  off  perpendicular  to  the  stone,  and  scrape 
toward  you,  drawing  the  edge  of  the  nail-head  against  it. 
A  favorite  method  of  hunting  turkeys  in  heavily  tim- 
bered sections,  especially  in  the  bottoms,  is  with  a  dog. 
This  has  the  double  advantage  of  giving  the  hunter  a 
chance  at  them  in  the  trees,  if  they  do  not  fly  into  pines 
or  other  thick-leaved  or  mossy  trees,  and  also  a  good 
chance  at  calling  them,  since  they  generally  are  well  scat- 
tered when  flushed  by  a  dog.  Almost  any  kind  of  dog, 
keen  of  nose  and  still  of  tongue  when  running  a  trail,  can 
be  made  good  for  turkeys,  but  I  have  found  that  pointers, 
or  mongrels  having  pointer  blood,  usually  turn  out  best. 


WILD    Tl'HKEY   8HOOTIXO.  351 

No  dog  that  gives  tongue  while  trailing  can  ever  be  first- 
class  for  turkey-hunting,  since  turkeys  are  easily  alarmed, 
and  will  run  like  deer,  taking  care  to  cross  all  the 
streams  and  sloughs  possible,  or  go  to  the  hills,  when 
chased,  from  which  they  can  fly  off  to  other  hills,  very 
often  before  the  dog  gets  near  them.  The  best  dog  is 
very  swit'r  on  a  hot  track,  always  running  still,  and  hence 
usually  dashes  right  into  a  flock  before  they  know  he  is 
coming,  putting  them  into  the  first  trees  they  can  reach. 
He  ought  to  be  noisy  enough  after  he  flushes  them,  as 
this  shows  the  hunter  where  they  are,  and  also  distracts 
their  attention.  Then  he  must  be  well  trained,  and  kept 
always  under  good  control,  so  that  he  can  be  whistled  to 
heel,  or  made  to  lie  like  a  chunk  when  necessary.  One 
of  the  best  turkey-dogs  I  ever  hunted  with  was  a  dropper, 
good  alike  for  quail,  prairie  chicken  and  turkey — yes, 
even  for  squirrels  and  a  crippled  deer;  but  the  very  best 
I  ever  knew,  I  owned  and  trained  myself  (of  course).  His 
mother  was  called  a  Scotch  terrier,  and  his  sire  was 
unknown.  After  hunting  with  him  three  years,  it  did 
seem  that  he  knew  everything  necessary  for  a  dog  to 
know  about  turkey-hunting,  and  surely  was  as  devoted 
to  his  master  and  as  fond  of  hunting  as  any  dog  could 
be.  When  my  father  wrote  me  of  his  death,  at  ten  years 
of  age.  it  was  impossible  to  hide  my  grief. 

It  is  December,  and  the  trees  are  naked  and  dead-like 
on  this  chilly  day.  Their  ashy-tinted  branches  had  snow 
on  them  last  week,  and  they  seem  to  be  still  shivering  as 
a  gentle  breeze  sweeps  through  them.  The  dull,  dead 
leaves  cover  the  earth  everywhere,  hiding  acorn  and 
hackberry  and  elm-seed,  good  food  for  the  turkey.  A 
friend  of  mine.  Bob  by  name,  is  with  me,  and  we  have 
come  horseback,  two  miles  from  home,  for  the  purpose  of 
laying  in  a  supply  of  turkeys  for  Christmas,  and  have 
hitched  our  horses  in  the  edge  of  Caney  Bottom,  which 


352  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

at  this  place  is  about  half  a  mile  wide,  and  is  a  splendid 
place  for  the  game  we  hunt.  I  know  that  there  is  a  flock 
of  about  thirty  turkeys  ranging  here,  and  with  my  famous 
dog,  Jeff,  to  find  them,  feel  absolutely  certain  of  getting 
all  we  want  to-day.  Bob  is  a  novice  after  turkeys,  and 
carries  a  heavy  double-barrel  shot-gun,  which  he  knows 
well  how  to  use  on  other  kinds  of  game.  I  carry  a  rifle, 
the  companion  of  years,  the  delight  of  my  heart,  the 
winner  of  many  a  trophy  from  the  forest. 

"We  will  walk,  Bob,  because  the  Bottom  is  very 
thick  in  many  places,  and  we  can  do  better  every  way. 
We  will  hunt  up  this  side  of  the  creek  for  half  a  mile,  and 
if  unsuccessful,  then  down  the  other  until  opposite  here." 
On  entering  the  Bottom,  Jeff  is  told  to  go,  and  he  is  off 
like  a  well-trained  pointer,  and  not  unlike  him,  either,  in 
his  ranging  back  and  forth  across  our  course.  Every 
now  and  then  he  looks  to  see  which  way  wre  are  going, 
always  keeping  in  sight.  Here  and  there  we  see  where 
turkeys  have  been  scratching,  turning  up  the  leaves  as 
they  searched  for  their  food.  After  having  gone  half  a 
mile,  we  come  to  the  Jones  field,  and  stop  for  a  short  rest. 
Though  we  have  seen  plenty  of  fresh  signs,  Jeff  caught 
no  scent,  and  I  am  sure  the  turkeys  are  on  the  other  side 
of  the  creek.  While  we  sit  and  talk,  we  hear  some  noisy 
mallards  over  in  the  field,  where  there  is  a  grassy  pond 
that  has  afforded  me  much  sport  many  a  time,  for  it  is  a 
famous  place  for  ducks.  Bob  insists  upon  trying  to  get 
a  shot  at  those  mallards,  urging  as  a  reason  that  we  may 
not  find  the  turkeys;  but  he  is  restrained  by  the  strong 
assurance  that  we  will  find  them,  and  besides,  when  after 
turkeys,  there  should  be  no  promiscuous  shooting,  since 
turkeys  easily  take  fright  if  a  gun  be  fired  near  them, 
and  will  get  away  as  fast  as  possible,  going  into  the  hills, 
if  near  enough,  so  that  a  dog  can  do  but  little  with 
them. 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTIJSTG.  353 

It  is  now  11  o'clock,  and  we  cross  the  creek  on  a  drift, 
taking  a  course  angling  toward  the  hills,  down  the  Bot- 
tom: and,  before  we  have  gone  300  yards,  Jeff  begins  to 
sniff  the  air  significantly,  and  touch  his  cold,  damp  nose 
to  a  twig  or  vine  here  and  there,  all  the  while  wagging  his 
bushy  tail  energetically.  There  are  very  fresh  scratchings, 
and  some  tracks  seen  in  the  damp  soil  indicate  the  direc- 
tion the  turkeys  have  gone.  "  It  is  a  cold  trail.  Bob,  but 
Jeff  will  find  them,  sure."  The  faithful,  intelligent  ani- 
mal trots  from  side  to  side,  keeping  the  general  course  of 
the  tracks.  Every  now  and  then  he  stops  and  takes  a 
good  long  smell  in  some  moist  place  where  a  turkey  has 
walked.  After  we  have  gone  perhaps  200  yards,  it  is 
easy  to  see  that  Jeff  is  getting  livelier,  and  is  beginning 
to  settle  so  well  on  the  scent  that  he  hardly  sways  from 
one  course.  Now  he  straightens  out,  stops  wagging  his 
tail,  and  goes  as  straight  as  though  he  knows  exactly 
where  the  turkeys  are,  and,  before  we  are  aware  of  it,  he 
is  out  of  sight,  though  we  run  after  him  as  fast  as  we  can. 
All  at  once  Ave  run  on  him,  for  he  lost  the  trail,  and  is 
busy  trying  to  get  it  again,  which  enabled  us  to  overtake 
him.  In  a  moment  he  is  off  again,  and  we  rush  after  him, 
only  to  lose  sight  of  him  in  a  few  seconds.  Still  we  run 
as  fast  as  possible,  while  I  keep  one  ear  turned  somewhat 
to  the  course  we  travel.  All  at  once  I  hear  the  well- 
known  and  welcome  "put,  put,  put,"  and  we  stop  at 
once.  "Here,  Bob,  squat  right  here  by  me,  and  cock  both 
barrels  of  your  gun.  Keep  still."  We  hear  the  turkeys 
flying  in  different  directions,  and  lighting  in  the  trees; 
one  is  seen  to  stop  in  a  tall  pin-oak  about  sixty  yards 
from  us;  but  I  am  watching  intently  under  the  bushes, 
for  I  know  what  may  happen.  Long  ago  I  learned  the 
trick  turkeys  often  play  on  a  dog,  dodging  around  and 
behind  him,  and  running  straight  back  on  the  track,  with- 
out taking  wing  at  all.  Some  are  almost  sure  to  try  it, 

23 


354  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

where  there  is  a  flock.  Sure  enough,  there  they  come,  a, 
hen  and  a  young  gobbler,  right  at  us.  ';  Take  them,  Bob," 
I  say,  and  he  fires  both  barrels  quickly.  The  hen,  with 
rapid  wing,  climbs  the  air,  right  out  to  the  top  of  the 
trees,  and  sails  away  untouched,  while  the  gobbler,  with 
leg  hanging  down,  goes  swinging  through  the  timber,  to 
fall,  with  a  crash,  in  the  bushes  a  short  distance  from 
us,  but  out  of  sight.  "That's  all  right,  Bob;  we'll  get 
him  after  awhile."  As  Bob  loads  his  gun,  I  slip  to  a 
large  tree  near  by,  and  laying  my  rifle  up  beside  it,  take  a 
shot  at  the  turkey  we  saw  light,  and  which  had  the 
temerity  to  remain  after  Bob' s  shooting.  It  wilts  at  the 
keen  rifle-crack,  and  falls  like  a  chunk.  "  Now,  Bob,  fol- 
low my  instructions  already  given.  Go  to  where  you 
hear  Jeff  barking,  for  there  are  several  turkeys  there. 
Don't  be  uneasy  about  my  part  of  the  sport;  you  just 
take  care  of  yourself."  I  pass  along  where  my  turkey 
fell,  and  hang  it  in  a  bush.  After  going  a  short  distance, 
a  young  gobbler  is  seen  sitting  high  up  in  a  tall  pin-oak, 
about  100  feet  from  me.  It  would  be  a  nice  shot  to 
take  him  now,  but  there  are  too  many  intervening 
limbs.  My  plan  is  soon  formed.  There  is  a  large  over- 
cup  oak  about  half-way  between  me  and  him,  and  nearly 
in  line.  Behind  this  I  slip,  and  then  on  noiselessly  to  it, 
taking  care  to  keep  the  turkey  exactly  behind  it  from 
me.  I  peep  out,  to  make  the  discovery  that  I  am  in  a 
bad  place  to  shoot,  as  there  are  so  many  twigs  in  the  line 
of  sight.  Both  sides  of  the  tree  are  tried,  and  then  I 
squat  down,  and  see  how  the  prospect  is.  I  see  the 
turkey  is  growing  restless,  and  so  I  step  out  from  the  tree, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  an  open  space  through  the  limbs, 
through  which  to  shoot,  but  can't  find  it,  and  in  sheer 
desperation,  since  I  must  shoot  very  quickly,  I  do  my 
best  at  him;  but  he  goes  away  unhurt,  while  I  have 
the  poor  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  limb  half  an  inch  thick 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTIXG.  355 

fall  to  the  ground,  cut  by  my  bullet.  Some  150  yards 
farther  on,  I  see  a  small  hen  standing  straight  up,  very 
high,  in  a  tall  cotton- wood,  and  she  doesn't  look  bigger 
than  a  crow,  though  she  is  not  more  than  seventy-five  yards 
from  me.  Just  in  front,  a  little  to  my  right,  is  an  old 
dead  tree,  and  to  this  I  quickly  step,  to  find  that  there  is 
a  clean,  open  way  for  my  bullet.  Squatting  down,  and 
laying  my  rifle  on  a  knot  of  the  old  tree,  a  fine  bead  is 
drawn  on  that  turkey's  breast,  which  is  a  hard  thing  to 
do,  as  she  stands  clean  against  the  open  sky  beyond. 
Hunters  know  how  trying  it  is  to  make  a  rifle-shot  under 
these  conditions;  but  I  make  it  successfully.  Taking  my 
game  on  my  shoulder,  I  go  to  find  Bob,  who  has  not  fired 
since  I  left  him,  but  has  succeeded  in  scaring  away  a 
number  of  turkeys.  He  answers  my  whistle,  and  I  soon 
reach  him.  "  Bob,  you  are  not  doing  as  you  were  told, 
or  you  would  have  had  several  shots  before  this."  He 
confessed  he  had  not  obeyed  orders.  "Now  I'll  show 
you."  Jeff  is  barking  not  far  from  us,  and,  on  going  in 
that  direction,  we  find  he  has  a  young  gobbler.  "Walk 
right  after  me,  and  when  I  say  shoot,  lose  no  time." 
The  turkey  is  seventy-five  or  eighty  yards  away,  sitting 
with  its  left  side  toward  us.  We  walk  swiftly,  almost 
trotting  sometimes,  as  though  we  were  going  to  pass  well 
to  the  front,  and  gradually  circle  nearer  and  nearer, 
until  we  are  about  to  pass  to  the  turkey' s  right  side,  at 
which  time  we  are  not  more  than  thirty  yards  from  him. 
I  have  kept  an  eye  on  him  all  the  while,  and  now  say 
"  shoot."  In  an  instant,  Bob  throws  up  his  gun,  but  I 
walk  on.  It  is  a  good  kill,  and  Bob  is  happy.  ' '  Oh,  I 
can  do  it  now  right  along.  I  was  afraid  I  might  scare 
them  before;  but  I  see  now  how  it  is  done,"  said  my  com- 
panion, enthusiastically.  Pretty  soon,  Jeff  has  found 
another,  and  so  I  send  Bob  to  try  his  skill  by  himself. 
Sure  enough,  he  gets  his  turkey.  When  turkeys  have 


356  UPLAXD    SIIOOTIXG. 

been  flushed  by  a  dog  into  the  trees,  and  one  uses  a  shot- 
gun, it  is  often  impossible  to  slip  near  enough  to  shoot 
them,  and  the  best  way  is  to  walk  right  ahead  as  though 
you  were  going  to  pass  by  them,  always  circling  gradu- 
ally nearer,  and  avoid  getting  behind  them.  If  one  hesi- 
tate or  waver,  he  is  almost  sure  to  scare  his  turkey  when 
employing  this  method.  As  in  courting,  so  in  this,  "  Faint 
heart  never  won  fair  lady."  But  the  trustful,  confident, 
steady-going,  quick-moving  soul  is  very  apt  to  win;  still, 
of  course,  he  will  sometimes  fall,  though  less  often  than 
when  the  slipping  process  is  tried.  When  using  a  rifle, 
I  generally  try  to  slip  on  turkeys  in  the  trees,  because 
when  they  are  approached  openly  they  watch  the 
hunter  closely,  and  when  he  stops  to  shoot  they  often  fly 
at  once,  giving  him  no  chance  to  draw  a  bead;  and  then, 
when  I  have  a  rifle,  I  can  make  much  longer  shots,  and 
take  more  time  in  selecting  an  open  place  through  which 
to  send  my  bullet.  I  have  never  found  this  way  of  walk- 
ing openly  around  them  to  succeed,  except  when  they 
had  been  flushed  by  a  dog  or  by  shooting  at  them.  On 
the  roost,  they  do  not  sit  so  well.  They  seem  to  think 
that  the  hunter  has  not  seen  them,  and  is  going  to  pass 
them,  not  noticing  that  he  is  gradually  getting  nearer  to 
them.  Whenever  he  stops,  though,  they  have  their  fears 
fully  aroused,  and  are  off  like  a  shot,  as  a  rule. 

Calling  Jeff  to  heel,  we  go  to  where  Bob  shot  the 
young  gobbler  that  flew  away  crippled,  and  taking  the 
course  he  flew,  Jeff  is  sent  out  to  find  him,  a  task  soon 
performed.  Five  turkeys  now  swing  by  their  necks  to 
trees;  three  fell  to  Bob's  gun.  I  am  glad  for  him,  and 
give  him  my  congratulations. 

"Well,  Bob,  we  could  doubtless  find  other  turkeys 
scattered  through  the  Bottom,  if  we  would  take  time  to 
hunt  them,  but  I  believe  we  can  do  better  by  calling 
them."  So  we  go  out  near  where  Jeff  flushed  the  flock, 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  357 

everywhere  looking*  for  a  suitable  place  for  our  purpose. 
Finally  we  find  a  tolerably  open  space,  sixty  or  seventy 
yards  across,  in  the  very  center  of  which  there  are  some 
old  rotten  logs.  Rolling  two  together,  so  as  to  make  a 
Y,  we  pile  brush  and  sticks  on  them  and  about  them, 
making  a  very  natural -looking  blind,  that  will  completely 
hide  us  on  all  sides,  at  the  same  time  allowing  plenty  of 
openings  to  see  and  shoot  through.  We  have  left  an 
open  space  on  the  inside,  from  which  we  scrape  away  all 
the  leaves,  so  that  if  we  have  to  move  we  will  make  no 
noise.  There  is  plenty  of  room  within,  and  we  sit  down, 
back  to  back,  so  as  to  command  a  good  view  in  every 
direction.  Two  hunters,  understanding  each  other  well, 
can  always  do  better  than  one,  because  by  sitting  as  we 
sit,  those  startling  and  confusing  ' '  back  surprises ' '  are 
effectually  prevented.  Jeff  lies  snugly  by  my  side,  but 
shows  himself  to  be  wide-awake  to  every  proceeding. 
The  leaves  are  all  dead,  and  I  have  no  caller  except  my 
lips,  which  always  serve  me,  as  a  dernier  ressort.  By 
folding  the  lower  lip  under  the  upper,  and  sucking,  while 
holding  my  hands  closely  cupped  over  my  mouth,  pretty 
good  yelping  can  be  done.  When  all  is  ready,  a  few  low, 
muffled  yelps  are  given,  rather  long  drawn  out.  It  has 
been  half  an  hour  since  the  last  shot  was  fired.  Quietness 
reigns  in  the  solemn  forest.  Not  even  a  noisy  crow  is 
heard,  near  or  far.  In  a  few  minutes,  I  yelp  again,  and 
immediately  we  hear  a  long,  keen,  loud  kee-ouk  on  Bob's 
side.  I  whisper:  "Get  ready;  that's  a  fool  of  a  young 
gobbler,  and  he'll  be  on  you  before  you  know  it."  A  yelp 
or  two  by  me,  and  we  hear  the  pattering  of  his  feet  in  the 
leaves  as  he  comes  rushing  to  destruction.  Jeff  gives  a 
convulsive  shiver,  for  he  has  heard  everything,  and 
knows  what  is  going  on  as  well  as  either  of  us.  The 
deadly  gun  booms,  and  the  young  fellow,  deceived  by  a 
motherly  yelp,  lies  fluttering  in  death.  Jeff  springs  out 


358  UPLAND    SHOOTIXG. 

and  on  him  in  a  jiffy,  and  fondles  him,  not  tearing  out  a 
feather,  seeming  to  say:  "  I  wish  you  would  get  up  and 
'I'tfn,  so  I  could  have  the  fun  of  catching  you.  It  is  too 
bad  to  kill  turkeys  so  dead  as  this."  Into  our  blind  we 
get,'  and  in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  I  yelp  again,  about  as 
at  first,  when  we  immediately  hear  a  young  hen,  200 
yards  or  more  away  to  my  left.  Her  call  is  a  sort  of 
half- whistle  and  half -yelp,  and  that  is  how  I  know  what 
she  is.  I  yelp  again,  a  little  louder  than  before,  to  indi- 
cate confidence  and  unconsciousness  of  danger.  She 
yelps  repeatedly,  drawing  nearer  fast.  Pretty  soon  she 
steps  into  the  opening,  as  she  passes  from  my  left  to  my 
front.  The  faithful  gun  comes  to  my  face;  a  quick 
whistle  stops  her;  the  bullet  crashes  through  her,  and, 
with  outspread  wings,  she  lies  quivering  on  the  ground. 
This  one  is  gathered  in,  and  we  again  seat  ourselves  in 
the  blind.  We  wait  half  an  hour,  but  bring  nothing  in 
sight,  though  we  have  heard  yelps  in  two  or  three  direc- 
tions. We  wait  half  an  hour  longer,  and  have  heard  four 
or  five  turkeys,  one  that  came  quite  near,  but  failed  to 
show  itself  to  us.  Bob  suggests  that  we  go,  as  we  have 
plenty,  and  he  is  growing  hungry  and  tired.  I  plead  for 
only  a  few  minutes  longer;  it  was  a  wise  thing  to  do  this 
time,  for  in  less  than  five  minutes  an  old  hen  walked 
shyly  into  the  opening  in  front  of  me,  and  I  dropped  her 
dead  before  either  Bob  or  Jeff  knew  what  I  was  about. 

"Now  we  will  go,  as  I  am  even  with  you.  Four  to 
four,  we  stand.  Good  shooting  we  have  done;  and  we've 
had  a  splendid  day,  haven't  we?"  "  The  best  I  ever  had, 
and  I'll  hardly  ever  have  another  so  good,  I  fear,"  Bob 
responds,  as  he  heaves  a  big  sigh.  Leaving  Bob  with  the 
turkeys,  I  go  and  bring  the  horses,  that  soon  carry  us  and 
our  game  home,  where,  of  course,  we  are  warmly  welcomed 
and  given  a  good  dinner  by  my  folks.  Jeff  assumes 
guard  over  the  turkeys  as  they  hang  by  their  necks  to  a 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  359 

post,  and  will  not  let  another  dog,  or  even  the  negro 
children,  get  near  them.  They  are  his  game  as  well  as 
ours.  Faithful  dog!  I  recall  even  now  that  self  -sat  is- 
fied  air  of  his,  as  he  lay  beneath  the  mass  of  legs  and 
wings,  every  now  and  then  looking  up  to  see  if  they  w.efe 
all  there,  or  just  to  feast  his  eyes  on  them  and  exult  over 
the  achievements  of  the  day. 

In  the  piny  woods,  or  where  the  trees  are  very  mossy 
and  thick,  or  in  the  hills  anywhere,  but  few  opportuni- 
ties are  given  the  hunter  to  shoot  turkeys  in  the  trees 
after  they  have  been  flushed  by  a  dog,  but  always,  in  such 
places,  he  has  a  good  chance  to  call  them  up.  It  is  always 
advisable  to  build  a  blind  near  where  the  turkeys  flushed, 
selecting  every  time  an  open  place,  if  possible,  so  that 
one  can  easily  see  a  turkey  as  soon  as  it  gets  near.  Too 
much  care  can  not  be  bestowed  upon  a  blind,  to  make  it 
safe,  and  at  the  same  time  natural  looking.  As  said 
before,  two  men,  sitting  back  to  back,  are  far  more  suc- 
cessful than  one,  in  a  blind,  for  there  is  no  telling  on 
which  side  a  turkey  is  going  to  come  when  called.  Some 
have  thought  that  it  is  not  best  to  use  a  dog  in  flushing 
turkeys,  when  one  wishes  to  scatter  them  before  calling, 
preferring  to  run  them  up  or  lire  into  the  flock;  but  my 
experience  does  not  justify  this,  and  so  I  always  use  a 
dog.  when  one  can  be  had. 

When  the  warm,  sunny  days  of  spring  arrive,  and 
shrub  and  tree  and  earth  don  their  new  light -green  robes 
—when  the  buds  are  bursting  into  leaf  and  flower,  and 
the  woodland  songsters  tune  their  voices  for  their  merry 
concerts  in  the  wildwoods — then  the  old  gobblers  burnish 
up  their  armor,  and  put  on  their  handsomest  suits  of 
silky,  plushy  feather,  and  go  forth  for  battle  and  for  love. 
I  frankly  confess  that  I  love  them  best  at  this  time.  My 
sentiments  about  protecting  them  at  this  time  have  been 
expressed;  yet,  outwitinga  really  sharp  old  gobbler  is  far 


360  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

more  interesting  to  me  than  killing  half  a  dozen  that  know 
nothing  of  the  hunter' s  wiles  and  arts.  No  gobbler  ever 
gets  too  sharp  for  a  good  hunter,  and  sooner  or  later  falls 
to  his  gun,  if  he  persist  in  pursuit.  I  have  never  failed  to 
bag  the  wiliest,  best-educated  gobbler,  when  I  have  had 
time  to  spend  on  him;  and  I  am  sure  this  is  the  general 
experience  of  good  turkey-hunters. 

I  have  known  men  to  use  domestic  gobblers,  trained 
for  hunting,  but  I  never  tried  them  myself.  From  what 
they  say,  it  must  be  a  very  successful  method.  I  can  not 
gobble  very  well,  yet  I  have  brought  both  gobblers  and 
hens  to  me  repeatedly  by  gobbling  in  my  poor  way. 

As  to  hiding  when  calling  gobblers,  men  differ;  but 
my  preference  always  is  for  st  blind,  hastily  constructed 
of  green  bushes,  if  possible  to  obtain  them.  Generally, 
some  can  be  found  standing  to  suit  my  purpose,  and 
these  I  cut  so  as  to  leave  them  about  as  high  as  my  head 
while  sitting  on  the  ground.  I  add  to  them  as  may  be 
necessary,  taking  care  to  protect  myself  on  every  side, 
especially  behind.  The  bushes  can  be  stuck  in  the 
ground,  as  though  they  grew  there.  On  the  inside,  there 
should  be  space  enough  to  allow  the  hunter  to  turn  about 
if  necessary,  and  so  it  is  well  to  brush  away  dead  leaves. 
I  have  tried  getting  behind  trees  and  before  them,  behind 
logs  and  lying  down  in  brush-piles — in  fact,  almost  every 
way,  but  the  one  for  which  I  here  express  preference 
has  given  best  results.  The  hunter  ought  to  be  well  It  id. 
and  keep  hid,  when  he  is  calling.  He  ought  to  get  his 
gun  to  his  face  as  soon  as  a  turkey  is  in  sight,  for  the 
slightest  movement  is  almost  sure  to  be  seen  after  he 
gets  near.  I  have  lost  many  a  gobbler  by  not  adhering 
strictly  to  this  rule.  I  remember,  once,  calling  up  an  old 
gobbler  for  a  friend,  and,  when  about  thirty  yards  from 
us.  he  tried  to  shoot;  but  the  gobbler  stepped  behind  a 
tree,  and  did  not  show  himself  plainly  until  he  had 


WILD   TURKEY  SHOOTING.  361 

moved  about  ten  feet.  This  necessitated  moving  the  gun 
a  little — something  that  ought  to  have  been  done  while 
he  was  moving  and  out  of  sight — which  movement  was  at 
once  caught  by  the  keen-eyed  fowl,  and  he  was  off  like 
a  flash.  We  were  as  well  hid  as  it  is  possible  to  be,  and 
the  morning  was  cloudy,  so  there  was  no  glittering  of 
the  sun  on  the  barrels.  The  only  thing  he  could  see  was 
the  movement  of  the  gun.  I  made  my  friend  fix  himself 
as  before  in  the  blind,  and  I  went  to  where  the  turkey 
was  when  he  took  fright ;  and  I  could  not  see  anything 
except  the  barrel  of  his  rifle. 

Ordinarily,  if  gobblers  have  no  hens  with  them,  and 
have  not  grown  smart  by  experience  with  human  decep- 
tions, they  are  easily  called  up  by  an  expert;  and  some- 
times the  hunter  will  be  able  to  call  hens  and  gobblers 
up  together,  in  which  case  the  former  will  always  be  in 
advance  of  the  latter,  so  that,  if  he  has  his  heart  set  on  a 
gobbler,  he  must  either  make  a  long  shot,  or  let  th'e  hens 
pass  on  by  him.  In  such  cases,  he  must  be  well  hid, 
and  keep  very  still. 

A  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  camping  on 
Little  River,  Texas,  fishing  and  hunting.  It  was  a  jolly, 
lively  company  of  cultivated,  refined  persons,  who  had 
met  there  for  a  week  of  wildwood  enjoyment ;  and  they 
got  all  there  was  to  get,  for  they  knew  how.  My  wife 
had  gone  out  with  them  at  first,  and  I  joined  them  about 
three  days  afterward.  Soon  after  my  arrival,  the  wel 
come  information  was  imparted  that  there  was  a  very 
smart  old  gobbler  in  the  neighborhood  that  could  not  be 
fooled  by  any  human  device.  Several  of  the  party  had 
tried  him,  only  to  fail;  and,  though  he  gobbled  every 
morning,  it  was  never  until  he  had  left  his  roost.  A 
meeting  was  held,  and  a  solemn  resolution  was  passed,  to 
the  effect  that  that  turkey  was  a  nuisance,  and  that  I  be 
appointed  to  abate  it  forthwith,  under  penalty  of  ban- 


362  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

ishment  from  camp  in  case  of  failure — two  days  being 
allowed  in  which  to  accomplish  it. 

Before  sunrise  next  morning  I  was  seated  on  a  log, 
half  a  mile  from  camp,  anxiously  waiting  for  Mr. 
Gobbler  to  open  the  game  at  which  he  and  I  were  to 
play.  It  was  a  lovely  spring  morning.  The  violets  and 
the  daisies  had,  ere  this,  breathed  out  their  sweet 
lives;  the  "red  buds,"  that  erstwhile  wreathed  with 
pinkish  blossoms  every  branch  of  the  dark,  polished 
iron-wood  trees,  had  all  fallen,  faded  and  limp,  to  the 
earth  in  showers  of  sweetness,  and,  in  the  dim  morning 
light,  looked  like  rose-leaves  on  the  floor  of  a  deserted 
banquet-hall.  The  heavy,  humid  air  still  retained  a  faint 
odor  of  the  dying  wild-plum  blossoms,  while  the  snowy 
dogwood  flowers  were  busily  breaking  their  buds  into 
bloom,  bridal-wreathing  the  gladsome  spring.  A  mag- 
nificent trumpet-vine,  right  over  me,  clinging  to  a  dead 
tree,  and  enwrapping  itself  around  and  about  it,  embow- 
ering it  in  a  shaft  of  living  green,  reaching  skyward, 
reminds  me  of  Wirt's  beautiful  words  about  the  vine  and 
the  oak — the  wife,  and  the  broken,  discouraged  husband. 
The  time  of  its  flowers,  grand  carnation  trumpets,  is  not 
yet.  Delicate  silvery-green  leaves  are  struggling  into 
form  and  dimension  on  elm,  and  oak,  and  blackberry, 
and  alder,  while,  here  and  there,  a  greenbrier-vine 
unfolds  its  broad  young  leaves,  ruddy  with  vigor,  and 
lovely  with  blushing  beauty,  not  unlike  delicate-tinted 
Venetian  gloss.  The  woods  teem  with  life,  and  a  thou- 
sand wildwood  voices  are  heard,  from  the  scarlet  song- 
ster right  in  front  of  me,  sending  forth  every  few 
moments  his praiseful  "tube,  tube,  tube,"  as  he  sits  on 
topmost  twig  of  a  tall  elm,  whose  gracefully  rounded  and 
upreaching  bowers  make  for  him  a  throne,  silvery- 
sheeny  in  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  to  the  blue- 
backed,  white-breasted  chorister — whose  name  I  never 


,  WILD    TURKEY    SHOOTING.  363 

knew — hopping  from  twig  to  twig,  always  followed  by 
his  less  handsome  mate,  wooed  continuously  after  him 
by  his  clear,  musical  "  chick-' twill-a- wee."  A  stick 
cracks  to  my  right,  and  the  sharp  sound  shoots  into  me 
like  an  arrow,  causing  me  to  start  suddenly.  What  a 
sight  greets  my  vision !  There  are  three  deer  leisurely 
walking  past  me,  and  I  instinctively  grasp  my  rifle,  and 
begin  to  raise  it.  No,  no;  they  are  does  heavy  with 
young,  so  I  remain  perfectly  still,  as  they,  in  absolute 
fearlessness,  ramble  slowly  by,  stopping  to  examine  some 
suspicious-looking  stump,  or  to  listen  to  some  unusual 
sound,  or  to  nibble  the  dainty  buds  of  some  vine  or  bush. 
So  they  wander  on,  passing  within  twenty  yards  of  me, 
never  looking  at  me  once;  and  the  last  I  see  of  them  is 
the  swish  of  one's  tail,  as  it  signals  its  movement 
onward.  Graceful,  innocent  creatures !  How  can  we 
hunters  have  the  heart  to  kill  you  \  But  we  have,  some- 
times. , 

Humph!  my  right  leg  has  become  benumbed,  sitting 
so  long  and  so  still  in  one  position,  and  I  rise  up  to  work 
it  about,  to  start  the  circulation.  I  wonder  if  my  gobbler 
has  not  taken  fright  by  my  happening  to  pass  near  him 
as  I  walked  through  the  dark  woods  to  this  place;  or,  if 
some  other  hunter  has  not  disturbed  him;  or,  if  my  friends 
at  camp  have  not  played  a  trick  on  me,  there  being  no 
gobbler  at  all  in  these  woods. 

The  sun  is  now  well  up,  and  is  climbing  higher  and 
higher,  driving  away  all  duskiness,  spangling  the  polished 
leaves  of  greenbrier  and  haw  with  a  thousand  miniature 
suns,  and  making  the  grass  at  my  feet  fairly  dazzling 
with  diamonds  of  dew. 

"Ah,  there  he  is!"  It  is  spoken  quickly  and  audibly. 
My  heart  beats  harder  and  quicker.  The  object  of  my 
search  is  in  200  yards  of  me,  Standing  like  a  statue, 
I  listen  with  that  intensity  peculiar  to  the  hunter 


364  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

and  the  startled  deer.  Again  the  interesting  sound  is 
borne  to  my  ears;  but  I  wait.  He  gobbles  again  and 
again.  He  has  not  moved  since  he  first  gobbled;  certainly 
not  far.  "I'll  try  him,  right  here."  If  he  were  mov- 
ing, I  would  try  to  work  in  ahead  of  him;  but  he  isn't. 
There  is  a  big  tree- top,  several  years  fallen,  that  offers  a 
very  good  hiding-place,  and,  after  placing  a  few  chunks 
and  a  green  bush  or  two  in  necessary  places,  I  step  into 
this  hastily  constructed  blind,  plucking  a  young  haw- 
leaf  from  a  convenient  bush.  This  is  adjusted  to  my  lip, 
and  I  wait  for  him  to  gobble.  The  instant  he  does,  I 
give  two  or  three  yelps,  short  and  smothered,  just  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  him.  He  vigorously  gobbles 
twice  in  quick  succession,  so  I  know  he  has  heard  me. 
His  strutting  is  more  frequent  and  louder  than  before. 
Again  and  again  he  gobbles,  but  gets  no  nearer.  I  wish 
he  gobbled  less.  His  frequent  gobbling  is  not  a  good 
indication,  for  it  tells  me  that  he  is  not  going  to  be  in  a 
hurry  about  drawing  nearer,  and  that  he  is  going  to  do 
his  best  to  woo  the  yelper  to  him.  He  hasn't  drawn  an 
inch  nearer.  In  about  ten  minutes,  I  yelp  again,  about 
as  at  first.  Again  he  gobbles  and  struts,  but  does  not 
move.  I  know  exactly  how  far  he  is,  and  that  he  can't 
see  me  if  I  move,  and  so  I  get  out  of  my  blind,  after 
about  ten  minutes,  and  walk  quickly,  but  noiselessly, 
about  100  yards  to  the  left,  getting  no  farther  from  the 
turkey,  and  get  into  a  hiding-place  of  bushes.  As  soon 
as  he  gobbles,  I  yelp  again,  and  he  answers  quickly.  The 
yelping  has  been  faultless,  and  I  know  he  is  not  alarmed 
at  any  bad  note.  My  object  in  moving  was  to  make  him 
think  that  the  hen  was  feeding  along,  and  not  going  to 
him.  To  stay  in  one  place  all  the  time  is  not  hen-like, 
and  any  sharp  gobbler  knows  it.  Ordinarily,  it  is  best  to 
stay  in  one  place,  but  when  dealing  with  an  "educated" 
gobbler,  it  is  often  best  to  move  occasionally,  especially 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  365 

early  in  the  morning.  He  gobbles  and  struts  right  along, 
but  gets  no  nearer.  Soon  everything  is  quiet,  and  I 
know  he  is  moving,  but  which  way  I  can  not  tell,  and  so 
keep  my  eyes  busy,  and  my  gun  in  a  convenient  position. 
The  swish  of  a  squirrel's  tail,  seventy  yards  from  me, 
causes  me  to  start  my  gun  to  my  face;  but  the  mistake  is 
detected  instantly.  I  hear  him  strut,  and  know  he  is 
nearer,  but  can't  locate  him.  I  give  an  easy  yelp,  and 
he  instantly  gobbles,  squarely  off  to  my  left,  not  over 
loo  yards  away.  Quietly  turning  to  face  him,  I  watch, 
in  the  hope  that  he  may  circle  near  enough  for  a 
shot;  but  he  doesn't,  and  the  next  I  hear  of  him  is  when 
he  gobbles,  about  the  same  distance  away,  and  exactly  to 
my  left.  If  I  had  not  turned,  he  would  now.be  behind 
me.  Keeping  my  front  to  him,  a  close  watch  is  kept  up, 
and  developments  are  awaited.  Here  he  stops,  gobbles, 
and  struts  for  fifteen  minutes,  while  I  yelp  just  a  very 
little.  Now  he  strikes  off  down  the  Bottom,  going  to  my 
left  still,  but  going  straight;  every  few  minutes  he  gobbles, 
so  that  I  can  course  him  exactly.  Believing  that  he  will 
swing  round  farther  to  my  left,  and  keep  an  ear  in  my 
direction,  I  cast  off  to  his  left,  leaving  him  on  my  right, 
and  travel  fast  until  I  am  a  little  ahead  of  him.  He 
gobbles  a  good  deal,  which  convinces  me  that  he  is  still 
hopeful  of  results  from  the  yelping  he  has  heard.  All  at 
once,  I  come  to  an  open  glade,  about  100  yards  long 
and  sixty  wide,  in  the  edge  of  which  there  is  a  small,  thick 
cluster  of  bushes,  exactly  suited  to  my  purpose,  and  in 
the  very  center  of  this  I  squat  flat  down  on  the  ground! 
"  I  can  make  him  show  himself  here,  sure,"  is  the  con- 
fident, thought  in  my  mind.  He  is  not  more  than 
2oo  yards  away,  when  a  few  low  yelps  are  given 
with  a  green-brier  leaf,  to  which  he  makes  no  response 
except  to  strut.  In  about  five  minutes,  he  gobbles  low, 
to  which  I  respond  at  once,  and  he  gobbles  again.  Two 


366  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

or  three  minutes  elapse,  when  he  gobbles — a  sort  of 
chuckle — much  nearer  than  before.  A  couple  of  very 
low,  short  yelps  are  given,  and  I  drop  the  leaf  from  my 
fingers,  cock  my  rifle,  raise  it  to  my  face,  resting  both 
elbows  on  my  knees,  for  I  am  confident  he  is  going  to 
pass  in  sight  somewhere  along  the  glade,  my  expectation 
being  that  he  will  show  up  opposite  me,  on  the  other  side. 
Not  a  strut  or  a  gobble  is  heard,  and  I  know  he  is  moving 
slowly  and  carefully.  The  silence  heightens  the  intensity 
of  my  feelings;  my  nerves  are  strung  to  tightest  tension; 
nothing  could  escape  my  eye  now.  In  about  two  minutes 
— ten,  it  seems — I  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  white  head  across 
the  glade  in  the  bushes;  it  is  held  perfectly  still  for  a 
moment,  and,  as  it  moves,  there  comes  gliding  from  the 
bushes,  easily  as  oil,  noiselessly  as  a  spirit,  shyly  as 
modesty  undressed — the  very  embodiment  of  suspicion 
and  wariness — the  glossy  form  of  this  wily  Anight  of  the 
forest.  Before  he  reaches  the  glade,  he  stops  and  stands 
erect,  his  neck  stretched  high,  his  head  turned  to  one  side 
in  listening  attitude,  his  feathers  pressed  close  like  mail 
of  steel;  and,  as  he  stands,  he  looks  as  though  he  could 
dissolve  from  view  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I 
know  that  he  has  come  just  to  take  a  peep  out  into 
the  glade,  and  that  no  time  is  to  be  lost.  There  is  a 
quick  but  steady  glance  along  the  barrel,  and  the  silver 
bead  freezes  in  the  notch  of  the  rear  sight,  and  settles, 
with  the  steadiness  and  fixedness  of  a  ton  weight,  right 
on  the  center  line  of  his  body,  just  above  the  point  of  the 
breast-bone,  when  instantly  the  hair-trigger  is  touched, 
followed  by  the  murderous  crash  of  the  report,  and  a 
quick  vision  of  flying  feathers,  right  and  left,  outspread 
wings,  and  head  thrown  convulsively  back.  Springing 
instantly  up,  I  go  to  him  at  once,  stepping  the  distance, 
which  is  exactly  sixty-nine  steps.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  paralyzed  by  the  shot,  so,  when  I  reached  him,  I  saw 


(367) 


368  tfPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

only  a  slight  tremor  of  his  wings  and  one  dying  gasp. 
In  all  my  experience,  but  a  very  few  times  have  I  ever 
seen  a  turkey  killed  so  very  dead.  Without  touching 
him,  I  stood  close  by  and  looked  at  this  splendid  fowl. 
He  lay  upon  his  breast,  slightly  turned  to  one  side;  his 
legs  stretched  straight  behind  him,  as  he  fell  forward; 
his  wings  were  about  half-spread,  the  white  spots  glister- 
ing in  the  bright  light;  his  tail,  so  perfect  of  feather  and 
rich,  of  dark,  rich  russet,  was  partly  spread,  and  lay  gently 
touching  the  ground;  his  neck,  with  a  very  life-like  curve, 
lay  prone  upon  the  earth,  while  his  head  lay  on  one  side, 
showing  an  eye  half -closed,  and  his  mouth  partly  open, 
with  a  few  drops  of  blood  about  his  tongue. 

Gathering  him  up  carefully,  I  went  to  camp  as  fast  as 
possible,  exulting  over  my  skill,  and  eagerly  anticipating 
the  warm  congratulations  awaiting  me,  in  which  I  was 
not  disappointed.  A  bright  little  woman,  with  blue  eyes 
and  auburn  hair,  triumphantly  said:  "  I  knew  my  hus- 
band would  bring  him."  He  weighed  twenty-four 
pounds,  and  was  a  most  splendid  fowl  every  way.  The 
next  day  we  had  him  for  dinner,  cooked  to  perfection,  and 
a  vote  of  thanks  was  tendered  me. 

A  favorite  way  of  hunting  turkeys,  with  many  sports- 
men, is  to  roost  them,  and  shoot  as  many  as  they  can 
before  it  becomes  too  dark,  and  then  call  them  the  next 
morning.  A  good  hunter  will  hardly  ever  fail  to  get 
several  shots  in  the  morning,  after  they  have  been  scat- 
tered the  evening  before.  Many  points  could  here  be 
given  on  roosting  turkeys,  but  the  limits  of  this  article 
forbid;  and  so  I  give  an  experience. 

In  the  month  of  February,  several  years  ago,  two 
friends  and  myself  camp  on  Cedar  Creek,  Burleson 
County,  Texas,  for  the  purpose  of  turkey-hunting;  and, 
as  we  wish  to  roost  them,  each  goes  in  a  different  direc- 
tion— "every  fellow  for  himself."  After  half  an  hour 


WILD    TURKEY    SHOOTING.  369 

spent  in  the  creek  bottom,  I  have  made  the  discovery 
that  the  turkeys  are  not  feeding  there,  and  so  I  go  to 
the  hills,  where,  by  numerous  fresh  scratchings,  as  well 
as  tracks  in  the  soft  earth,  it  becomes  evident  that  they 
are  ranging.  The  fact  is  plain  to  me  that,  while  they 
range  in  the  hills  during  the  day,  they  go  to  the  bottom 
to  roost  at  night,  as  the  tracks  next  to  the  bottom  are  all 
seen  to  have  been  made  going  and  coming,  and  it  is  their 
custom  to  roost  in  the  bottoms  at  this  season.  After 
looking  around  among  the  hills  for  an  hour,  a  descent  is 
made  into  the  bottom,  where,  from  observations  carefully 
made,  it  seems  most  likely  turkeys  may  roost.  This 
is  a  place  where  the  creek  comes  squarely  against  the 
hills,  forming  a  horseshoe  bend,  in  which  there  is  a 
shallow  pond,  of  perhaps  five  acres,  full  of  tall  trees, 
many  of  them  being  pecans.  Turkeys  are  fond  of  roost- 
ing over  water,  when  they  can  find  good  trees. 

Finding  a  large  tree-top,  broken  off  _ during  the  sum- 
mer, and  now  retaining  its  dead  leaves,  I  slip  into  it,  and 
happily  find  it  to  be  a  splendid  blind,  well  located,  as  it 
is,  between  the  pond  and  the  creek,  at  a  point  where  the 
distance  between  them  is  about  sixty  yards.  Across  the 
creek,  the  hills  rise  abruptly,  furnishing  a  good  place  for 
the  turkeys  to  take  wing  when  they  go  to  roost.  Having 
found  some  smart-weed  leaves  growing  in  a  protected, 
sunny  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  pond — though  spring  has 
not  yet  begun  to  show  any  indications  of  being  near — 
a  few  are  gathered  for  callers.  The  sun  is  about  half 
an  hour  high,  when  I  hide  in  my  blind,  and  make  my- 
self comfortable.  As  a  general  thing,  turkeys  are  very 
easily  drawn  to  a  good  roosting-place  by  yelping,  espe- 
cially if  the  hunter  begin  before  they  have  decided  to  go 
to  any  particular  place.  A  few  long,  whining  yelps  are 
given,  as  nearly  like  the  notes  of  an  old  hen  as  possible. 
No  response;  it  was  hardly  expected,  my  purpose  being 

24 


370  UPLAXD   SHOOTIXG. 

to  notify  turkeys  in  hearing  that  this  place  was  going  to 
be  occupied  to-night  by  some  of  their  friends.  In  about 
ten  minutes,  a  few  more  yelps  are  given,  and  at  once  a 
hen  out  in  the  hills  responds  with  a  few  lively  yelps, 
which  say:  "Never  mind;  we  will  soon  be  there,  too." 
I  yelp  a  few  times  more,  in  a  low,  careless  sort  of  way, 
and  then  drop  my  leaf,  as  I  feel  sure  it  will  not  have  to 
be  used  again.  Pretty  soon,  turkeys  are  heard  scratch- 
ing in  the  leaves  on  the  hill-side,  and  occasionally  yelp- 
ing in  a  tow,  muffled  tone.  The  hunter  is  now  confident 
of  his  game,  and,  patiently  and  contentedly,  waits.  A 
gray  squirrel  playfully  interviews  him,  and  then  goes 
away.  A  couple  of  wood-ducks  swim  along  the  edge  of 
the  pond,  within  thirty  feet  of  their  dangerous  foe, 
unconcerned,  and  busily  engaged  in  their  evening  meal. 
The  fiery  eyes  and  silky  green  crest  of  the  male  well 
become  him — this  gallant  knight  of  the  woody  ponds 
and  creeks.  A  buzzard  sails  lazily,  easily  past,  and 
lightly  drops  on  the  jagged  limb  of  a  dead  tree  standing 
out  in  the  pond,  and  is  soon  joined  by  several  others. 
"A  good  omen,"  I  say.  I  am  not  superstitious,  but  I 
have  often  observed  that  turkeys  frequently  roost  near 
buzzards.  It  is  very  still,  so  still  that  a  wagon  on  the 
road,  half  a  mile  below,  seems  to  be  within  a  quarter, 
and  the  whir  of  a  sparrow' s  wings  can  be  heard  seventy 
yards  or  more.  The  last  gleam  of  the  sun  on  the  ashy 
limbs  of  the  forest-trees  has  faded  away;  dusk  comes  on 
apace;  the  air  grows  chilly;  the  chirping  of  the  birds 
ceases;  and  the  last  gray  squirrel  has  slipped  into  his 
hole  for  the  night,  bidding  me  adieu  with  a  few  graceful 
swishes  of  his  beautiful  tail.  I  am  alone,  and  lonesome. 
There  isn't  a  sound  to  be  heard,  except  the  rippling  of 
water  going  over  a  log  in  the  creek  and  the  far-oif  low- 
ing of  some  cattle  coming  into  the  bottom  to  spend  the 
night.  Suddenly  is  heard  the  welcome  whiff !  whiff! 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  371 

whiff!  of  a  turkey's  wings,  as  it  rises  on  the  hill-side, 
and  comes  past  me  into  a  tree  not  forty  yards  away,  on 
the  edge  of  the  pond.  It  is  a  hen  turkey,  and  wears  a 
beard.  She  turns  her  head  about,  and  carefully  looks  in 
every  direction,  to  see  if  anything  dangerous  can  be  dis- 
covered. Here  comes  another;  but  this  one  goes  on,  and 
lights  near  the  buzzards.  Soon  a  dozen  or  more  have 
gone  to  roost,  but  not  an  old  gobbler  has  yet  been 
heard.  The  hunter  waits;  for,  while  two  fine  hens  and  a 
young  gobbler  are  in  easy  reach  of  his  shot-gun,  the  time 
has  not  yet  come  for  work,  it  not  being  dark  enough; 
and  then  he  wants  to  see  if  some  old  gobblers  are  not 
coming,  too.  They  nearly  always  are  later  than  the  hens 
about  going  to  roost — very  like  the  male  of  the  "genus 
homo"  in  these  degenerate  days.  Ah,  there's  a  gob- 
bler !  His  heavy  flight  can  not  be  mistaken;  he  can  not 
be  seen,  but  he  is  marked,  nevertheless,  and  is  not 
100  yards  up  the  creek.  Sakes  alive  !  Here  comes 
one  right  at  me,  passing  so  near  that  I  instinctively 
duck  my  head,  though  he  passed  thirty  feet  over  me. 
In  a  big  pecan-tree,  twenty  steps  away,  he  stops — on  the 
very  scaffold  of  death.  He  is  mine.  Two  others  are 
heard  above,  in  the  creek,  and  then  all  is  quiet  again. 
From  his  secure  hiding-place,  the  hunter  contentedly 
watches  his  game,  and  plans  the  assault,  while  he  waits 
for  the  darkness  to  deepen.  There  they  stand,  their 
feathers  hanging  loosely,  indicating  that  they  are  not 
alarmed  one  bit;  but  they  peer  about,  dropping  their 
heads  below  the  line  of  their  bodies,  until  at  last,  one  by 
one,  they  ease  themselves  down  upon  their  perches,  their 
tails  hanging  almost  straight  down;  and  then  they  look 
to  be  satisfied  that  all  is  well  for  one  more  night.  Alas 
for  them  !  how  often  security  is  only  fancied  !  It  is  now 
dark  enough — so  dark  that  a  man  can  not  be  distin- 
guished from  a  tree  thirty  yards;  but  above  it  is  light 


372  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

enough  to  easily  see  a  turkey' s  head  against  the  sky. 
The  trusty  double-barrel,  loaded  with  6'  s  in  the  left  and 
OO's  in  the  right,  is  cocked,  and  the  hunter  slowly  rises  to 
his  feet,  to  bring  death  and  confusion  into  that  flock  of 
turkeys.  On  rising,  a  very  little  noise  is  made,  and  the 
old  gobbler  that  flew  so  near  me  when  going  to  roost 
stretches  his  long  neck,  and  looks  about  suspiciously. 
The  gun  comes  to  the  face,  and,  as  the  head  is  seen  just" 
above  the  barrel,  the  trigger  is  pulled,  and  a  load  of  6's 
crashes  through  his  head  and  neck,  making  him  tumble 
out  limp  and  lifeless.  Before  he  strikes  the  ground,  and 
while  a  hen  near  by  is  rushing  on  the  wrings  of  fear  from 
out  a  tree  to  my  left,  the  faithful  old  gun  glides  in  just 
ahead,  and,  as  its  bang  breaks  upon  the  confusion,  she 
folds  her  wings,  and  strikes  the  water  with  a  mighty 
splash.  Turkeys,  alarmed  at  the  firing,  are  now  flying 
in  almost  every  direction,  and  by  the  time  I  have  loaded 
my  gun  not  one  is  in  sight.  It  is  growing  darker  fast. 
Gliding  along  near  the  edge  of  the  pond,  I  carefully  look 
in  every  tree,  to  see  if  some  one  of  the  many  has  not  had 
temerity  enough  to  remain  on  its  roost,  and,  after  going 
about  100  yards,  make  the  glad  discovery  that  two  in  one 
tree  remain;  but  they  are  out  in  the  pond  so  far  that  I  must 
wade  in — something  willingly  done,  though  the  water  is 
cold  and  rubbers  are  absent.  Against  the  sky,  their 
long  necks  can  be  seen  moving  suspiciously,  and  the 
decision  is  made  that  it  will  not  be  best  to  try  to  get 
close,  and  I  fire  away  at  one  with  OO's,  only  to  badly 
cripple  it,  and  lose  it  in  the  darkness,  though  I  found  it 
the  next  morning,  and  carried  it  home,  it  having  fallen 
about  100  yards  out  in  the  bottom.  Gathering  up  the 
two  previously  killed,  I  go  up  the  creek  toward  camp, 
all  the  way  closely  watching  in  the  trees  against  the 
western  sky,  where  linger  yet  the  dying  beams  of  day- 
light. I  know  there  are  some  gobblers  somewhere  near, 


WILD   TURKEY   SHOOTING.  373 

for  I  did  not  hear  them  fly  at  the  firing.  Before  I  have 
gone  150  yards,  a  fine  fellow  is  seen  clearly  outlined 
against  the  western  sky,  and  plenty  near  for  a  good  kill; 
and  it  is  made  with  6's.  The  load  is  too  heavy  to  carry, 
and  so,  after  drawing  the  turkeys,  they  are  hung  in  a 
tree,  far  out  on  a  swinging  limb,  and  high  enough  to  be 
secure  from  wild  animals. 

On  arriving  at  camp,  my  companions  report  two 
turkeys  to  one  gun;  nothing  to  the  other.  A  good  sup- 
per, hunting-yarns,  and  some  plans  for  the  morrow,  are 
all  properly  attended  to,  and  we  sleep  soundly.  Early 
next  morning  we  are  out,  I  taking  with  me  my  friend, 
who  came  empty-handed  to  supper,  for  whom  I  call  up, 
of  the  flock  scattered  the  evening  before,  two  turkeys 
which  he  bags  and  two  which  he  misses.  I  bag  two 
myself.  Our  other  friend  brings  in  one.  Eleven  in  all! 
It  does  not  always  turn  out  so  well.  Is  there  anything 
in  luck  ? 

It  is  with  reluctance  that  these  lines  are  brought  to  a 
close,  for  the  writer  is  conscious  that  the  half  has  not 
been  told;  and,  writing  hastily,  as  he  has  been  compelled 
to  do,  under  many  pressing  duties,  he  feels  sure  that  he 
has  not  properly  accomplished  his  task,  though  he  has 
filled  his  allotted  space. 


CONCERXIXG  POINTERS  AND  SETTERS. 


WRITTEN  AND  ILLUSTRATED  BY  Jxo.  M.  TRACY. 


choosing  a  dog  for  upland  shooting,  the  American 
>— m  sportsman  must  beware  of  the  influence  of  Euro- 
pean taste  and  opinion  which  pervades  sporting  lit- 
erature, and,  while  good  for  Europeans  on  their  own 
ground,  is  utterly  misleading  in  America.  In  Europe, 
game  is  so  preserved  and  protected  that  birds  are  very 
abundant;  land -holdings  are  comparatively  small,  save 
the  estates  of  the  nobility,  covert  is  sparse,  and  tres- 
pass on  anothers  ground  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  It 
follows  that  a  slow,  cautious  dog  is  needed,  one  that  can 
be  relied  on  to  cover  every  inch  of  his  master's  little  pre- 
serve, and  nose  out  all  the  birds,  without  dashing  off  into 
neighboring  fields  and  getting  into  trouble  with  jeal- 
ous game-keepers. 

Here  all  is  different.  The  farms  are  large,  covert  is 
exceedingly  dense,  restrictions  as  to  trespass  on  private 
property  are  quite  rare,  and  may  generally  be  removed 
by  a  polite  word.  Game,  also,  is  less  abundant,  save  in 
exceptional  localities. 

We  therefore  need  a  fast  dog,  who  can  cover  a  great 
deal  of  ground,  high-spirited  and  dashing,  with  plenty 
of  intelligence  to  think  and  judge  of  the  ground  he  works 
over,  and  go  to  the  likely  places  without  losing  time  in 
useless  "quartering."  A  tough,  wiry,  hardy  fellow  he 
must  be,  able  to  endure  heat,  not  afraid  of  briers,  and 
staunch  to  the  last  degree  when  birds  are  found.  At  the 
same  time,  the  greatest  delicacy  of  nose  is  required  to 

.375) 


376     I  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

locate  birds  in  thick  weeds  in  our  dry,  scent-killing 
atmosphere. 

We  have  not  here  the  immense  hares  that  dogs  in 
Continental  Europe  are  required  to  retrieve,  nor  the 
chance  of  a  wounded  roebuck  to  pull  down,  or  a  wild 
boar  to  bring  to  bay,  so  we  need  no  such  great  weight 
or  power  as  is  required  in  France  and  in  Germany. 

Our  dog  must  be  as  small  and  light  as  is  consistent 
with  speed  and  endurance.  We  need  a  portable  dog  to 
take  in  the  buggy  or  on  the  cars,  on  trips  to  distant 
hunting-grounds.  Such  gad-abouts  as  we  Americans 
can  not  afford  to  be  burdened  with  any  surplus  weight. 

My  personal  experience  leads  me  to  differ  most  posi- 
tively from  many  good  sportsmen  and  able  writers  regard- 
ing the  value  of  high  breeding  in  dogs.  "Blood  will 
tell"  is  my  doctrine.  Since  1852,  when  I  first  began 
acquaintance  with  field  dogs,  I  have  seen  many  a  scrub 
and  mongrel  who  Avould  work  fairly  well — some  few, 
indeed,  that  could  be  classed  as  very  "killing"  dogs— 
but  never  one  that  could  compare,  even  for  pot-hunting, 
let  alone  style,  with  blue-blood  pointers  or  Llewellyn 
setters  of  the  field-trial  kind. 

It  has  been  my  privilege,  since  the  establishment  of 
trials,  not  only  to  see  a  good  deal  of  the  running,  but  to 
work  many  of  the  winners  in  private,  as  well  as  to  own 
and  train  highly-bred  puppies  for  my  own  use;  and  I 
must  say  that  the  worst  of  all  these  was  far  better  than 
the  best  mongrel  I  have  ever  seen.  I  regard  the  merito- 
rious scrub  as  a  highly  improbable  possibility,  while  the 
good  blue-blood  is  an  every-day  occurrence. 

The  great  trouble  with  highly  bred  dogs  is,  that  few 
owners  take  the  precaution  to  begin  training  by  bringing 
their  dogs  into  complete  and  willing  general  obedience, 
but  put  them  on  game  too  soon,  and  let  them  in  an 
uncontrolled  state  form  a  habit  of  yielding  to  excitement. 


(377) 


378  FPLAXD   SIIOOTIXG. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  a  dog  hunts  and  points 
by  natural  instinct,  and  only  needs  to  be  trained  to 
adjust  his  movements  to  those  of  his  master. 

With  only  such  training  as  is  needed  to  make  any 
kind  of  dog  fit  for  a  companion  or  guard,  your  pointer 
or  setter  becomes  a  useful  ally  in  the  field. 

I  would  rather  pay  a  trainer  $100  to  teach  my  pup  to 
come  quickly  when  called,  stop  instantly  when  ordered, 
and  walk  quietly  at  heel,  than  to  get  him  "well  broken" 
(as  the  thing  is  usually  done)  "free  of  charge,  and  a 
chromo  thrown  in." 

HINTS    ON   AMATEUR   TRAINING. 

While  not  pretending  to  rival  the  instructions  given  by 
Waters,  Hammond,  and  other  eminent  trainers,  I  can 
assure  the  sportsman  that,  if  he  has  the  gift  to  handle  a 
dog  at  all,  he  can,  by  following  the  ensuing  few  direc- 
tions, bring  a  green  puppy  into  sufficient  training  to  be 
useful  in  the  field  in  a  week's  time,  with  not  very  long 
daily  lessons. 

The  same  system,  with  a  little  more  vigorous  use  of  the 
spike-collar,  will  do  for  bringing  a  recalcitrant  old  dog  to 
a  sense  of  his  duty. 

Begin  by  teaching  your  dog  to  come,  to  go,  and  to  stop  at 
command.  Have  a  stout  check-cord  sixty  or  eighty  feet 
long,  and  tie  both  ends  to  his  collar — a  spike-collar  with 
blunt  points,  if  the  animal  is  so  self-willed  as  to  require 
punishment.  This  will  subdue  without  terrifying  him 
out  of  his  senses,  as  a  whip  does. 

Plant  a  smooth,  round  stake  in  the  ground  (a  broom  or 
hoe  handle  will  do),  and  pass  the  cord  over  it.  Now  take 
a  position  as  far  from  the  stake  as  the  cord  will  allow, 
holding  the  latter  loosely  in  your  hand.  The  dog  can 
now  come  and  go  easily,  the  cord  running  around  the 
stake  as  through  a  pulley;  and  you  can  pull  him  in  either 


POINTERS   AND    SETTERS.  379 

direction,  at  will,  when  lie  does  not  obey  commands.  You 
should  have  a  good  many  small  pieces  of  meat  at  hand,  to 
serve  as  rewards  of  merit.  Now  tell  him,  "  Come  here," 
and  if  he  obeys,  praise  him  and  give  him  a  taste  of  meat. 
If  he  does  not,  pull  him  to  you  by  the  cord  and  soothe 
him  a  little,  to  show  that  you  mean  him  no  harm.  Then 
say  "hie  on,"  and  wave  him  gently  away  with  your 
hand.  He  will  probably  not  understand  this,  so  by  pull- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  the  cord  you  draw  him  slowly 
out  toward  the  stake,  repeating  the  command  a  couple  of 
times  as  you  do  so.  When  he  has  gone  far  enough,  you 
call  "to-ho,"  and  stop  him  by  the  cord.  Holding  both 
strands  taut,  so  that  he  can  not  move,  go  up  to  him  and 
pet  him  a  little;  then  return  to  your  place,  and  repeat  the 
performance.  Give  your  commands  in  an  ordinary  tone 
of  voice,  and  do  not  repeat  more  than  twice  before 
enforcing  compliance  by  means  of  the  cord.  Be  exact 
about  this,  as  it  insures  promptness.  Keep  your  temper, 
be  kind,  but  firm,  and  reward  every  symptom  of  volun- 
tary obedience  with  a  piece  of  meat.  Let  the  lessons  be 
short,  but  as  frequent  as  possible.  Give  each  lesson  on 
different  ground,  and  change  your  position  with  reference 
to  the  stake  very  frequently  during  the  lesson. 

When  he  has  learned  to  obey  the  commands  without 
any  pull  on  the  cord,  take  him  away  from  the  stake,  but 
leave  the  cord  on  him  for  awhile;  then  gradually  dispense 
with  it,  but  have  it  handy,  so  that  you  can  clap  it  on  him 
if  needed. 

Absolute  perfection  in  stopping  at  the  word  "  to-ho," 
and  remaining  motionless  until  ordered  on,  is  the  key  to 
field  work,  so  you  must  give  extra  lessons  on  this. 
Throw  down  a  little  piece  of  meat,  and  let  him  approach 
within  a  few  feet  of  it;  say  "to-ho,"  and  stop  him  with 
the  check-cord.  Make  him  stand  rigidly  in  place.  If  he 
moves,  put  him  back  in  the  same  position,  and  repeat 


380  UPLAND   SIIOOTIXG. 

"to-ho."  If  he  moves  his  head  or  foot,  put  it  back 
exactly  as  it  was.  He  must  not  even  wag  his  tail.  At 
every  sign  of  movement,  check  it  with  the  hand,  and 
repeat  "to-ho."  When  he  has  been  perfectly  still  for 
a  few  seconds,  say  ' '  hie  on, ' '  and  let  him  take  the  meat. 
As  he  becomes  more  perfect  in  the  exercise,  try  him 
without  meat,  rewarding  his  obedience  with  praise  and 
caresses.  Finally,  exercise  him  without  the  cord;  he 
will  be  perfect  in  a  few  days,  but  you  should  watch  for 
opportunities  to  make  him  "  to-ho  "  under  circumstances 
of  great  excitement,  such  as  the  presence  of  strange  dogs 
or  of  people  he  does  not  like. 

Your  dog  being  now  thoroughly  under  control,  it  is 
time  to  acquaint  him  with  game.  Take  him  out  in  the 
field,  put  him  through  all  his  lessons,  and  allow  him  to 
run  awhile,  until  his  first  exuberance  at  the  outing  is  over. 
Then  take  him  to  a  place  where  you  are  confident  of  find- 
ing birds — quail  preferably.  Let  him  work  at  will  on  the 
scent  until  he  locates  them  for  himself.  He  will  probably 
point  them;  if  so,  let  him  stand  two  or  three  minutes, 
checking  every  symptom  of  restlessness  by  the  word 
"to-ho."  When  you  have  seen  that  he  is  really  settled 
on  a  steady  point,  walk  up  and  flush  the  birds,  keeping 
your  eye  on  him  all  the  while,  to  check  any  disposition 
to  move  with  your  advance  or  at  the  rise  of  the  birds. 
Should  he  move,  put  him  right  back  in  the  same  place, 
and  settle  him  again  into  a  rigid  position.  This  putting 
back  into  place  is  of  the  very  greatest  importance.  Above 
all,  don't  shoot,  no  matter  how  well  he  does,  until  you 
have  seen  him  steady  on  several  points  and  flushes.  If  he 
seems  deficient  in  pointing  instinct,  or  tries  to  work  in  too 
near,  and  flushes  birds,  you  must  stop  him  with  "to-ho" 
when  you  see  by  his  actions  that  scent  is  very  hot;  and  in 
every  case  stop  him  for  a  couple  of  minutes  at  all  acci- 
dental flushes.  He  will  soon  point  staunchly. 


POINTERS  AND  SETTERS.  381 

When  he  has  found  and  pointed  a  few  times,  and 
become  steady  at  the  rise,  begin  to  shoot,  using  at  first 
wood-powder;  but  on  no  account  must  you  shoot  at  a 
bevy  rise  until  several  singles  have  been  killed  over  him. 
The  excitement  of  such  a  powerful  scent,  and  the  roar  of 
so  many  wings,  with  the  added  crack  of  a  gun,  is  too  much 
for  the  high-strung  nerves  of  a  thorough-bred;  and  you 
are  liable  to  make  your  pupp}^  gun-shy,  even  though  Tie 
has  been  fully  accustomed  to  the  gun  by  presence  at 
target-sJiooting,  etc. 

Begin  by  shooting  only  at  well-pointed  singles.  Keep 
the  dog  still  for  a  minute  or  so  after  firing;  then  make 
him  find  and  point  the  dead  bird,  but  do  not  allow  him  to 
retrieve.  Pick  it  up  carefully,  and  allow  him  to  smell 
but  not  to  mouth  it,  and  show  him  that  you  handle  it 
with  care.  When  you  see  that  he  is  steady  on  singles, 
you  may  shoot  at  bevies.  Do  not  shoot  at  any  accidental 
flushes  until  he  is  thoroughly  trained  and  steady  in  his 
work.  When  punishment  is  necessary,  do  not  call  the 
dog  in  to  receive  it,  but  making  him  "  to-ho  "  at  some  dis- 
tance from  you,  walk  up  and  take  him  by  the  collar.  If 
you  proceed  otherwise,  he  will  learn  to  run  away  to  avoid 
punishment.  To  control  his  motions  in  the  field,  call  his 
attention,  and  wave  your  hand  in  the  direction  you  wish 
him  to  go,  and  start  that  way  yourself;  but  it  is  best  to 
let  him  work  the  ground  in  his  own  way  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, so  as  to  exercise  his  judgment  about  likely  places. 
In  using  the  whistle,  it  is  best  to  adopt  a  system  of  calls; 
say  a  single  short  blast  for  calling  attention,  and  two 
longer  repeated  blasts  for  him  to  come  in.  You  can  begin 
the  whistle  instruction  at  the  end  of  the  check-cord  and 
stake  course  mentioned  above. 

If  your  dog  is  gun-shy,  get  rid  of  him,  unless  you  see 
that  he  has  remarkable  qualities  otherwise.  In  that  case, 
take  him  out  hunting  frequently,  and  have  him  find  and 


382  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

point  birds,  taking  especial  care  to  make  him  steady  at 
the  rise;  but  do  not  shoot  until  his  passion  for  the  sport 
has  become  very  strong;  then  you  can  begin  on  singles, 
using  wood-powder.  Your  only  chance  of  failure  is  in 
commencing  to  shoot  too  soon.  If  you  have  a  perfectly 
staunch  dog  to  take  with  him,  so  much  the  better. 

Yard  lessons  in  retrieving  may  begin  as  soon  as  "  to-ho" 
has  been  mastered.  Use  any  soft  object,  such  as  a  roll 
of  cloth  or  a  leather  glove.  Show  this  to  him;  say 
"fetch,"  and  put  it  gently  in  his  mouth;  make  him  hold 
it  an  instant,  and  then  take  it  away,  saying  ' '  give. ' '  You 
can  gradually  take  a  step  or  two  away  as  he  holds  it,  and 
draw  him  to  you  with  the  check  cord,  repeating  all  the 
time,  ' '  fetch. ' '  He  will  soon  take  it  from  your  hand,  hold 
it,  and  bring  it  to  you,  at  command.  Then  you  have  to  lay 
it  on  the  ground  and  make  him  pick  it  up.  He  may  be 
induced  to  do  this  by  blowing  or  spitting  on  it,  and  wav- 
ing it  to  excite  his  interest,  before  you  throw  it  down; 
or  you  may  have  to  take  his  nose  in  your  hands,  bring  it 
down  to  the  object,  open  and  close  his  mouth  upon  it, 
using  force,  but  quietly  and  gently.  All  severity  is  worse 
than  wasted.  Patience,  firmness,  and  gentleness  will 
insure  success  in  every  case.  I  have  tried  severe  force 
systems  without  success,  but  on  the  above  plan  have 
never  failed.  Remember  that  lessons  must  be  short;  so 
do  not  try  to  do  too  much  at  once.  From  the  first, 
accustom  the  dog  to  remain  quiet  while  the  object  is 
being  put  or  thrown  down  for  him,  and  to  go  out  for  it 
only  at  the  word  "fetch." 

When  you  begin  to  let  your  dog  retrieve  birds,  he  must 
be  sent  for  such  only  as  are  cleanly  killed.  Cripples 
may  be  tried  when  he  has  had  more  experience.  When 
he  has  become  very  fond  of  retrieving,  he  will  probably 
begin  to  pinch  the  birds.  To  cure  this,  take  him  by  the 
lower  jaw  and  ram  the  mangled  bird  down  his  throat  until 


POINTERS    AND    SETTERS.  383 

it  nearly  chokes  him,  twisting  and  turning  it  about,  hurt- 
ing his  mouth,  tilling  it  full  of  feathers,  and  making  the 
whole  performance  very  disagreeable  to  him.  Throw  the 
bird  down  before  him,  and  do  not  allow  him  to  go  near 
it.  You  must  make  him  understand  that  the  bird  is 
spoiled.  A  few  repetitions  of  this  will  cure  the  fault. 
Never  allow  him  to  go  for  a  dead  bird  until  ordered,  and 
on  no  account  take  him  out  with  an  unsteady  dog. 

By  all  means  teach  him  to  walk  at  heel.  Any  pains 
you  may  take  to  attain  this  object  will  be  amply  repaid 
in  the  increased  comfort  you  will  have  in  his  company. 
Carry  a  little  switch  or  cane.  Call  the  dog  in  and  put 
him  behind  you,  repeating  the  word  "heel."  Walk  on 
slowly,  and  if  he  does  not  follow,  call  him,  and  if  he 
attempts  to  pass  you,  motion  him  back  with  the  switch, 
or  tap  him  lightly  with  it,  if  necessary.  Exercise  him  in 
this  every  time  you  take  him  out  for  a'  run.  If  I  could 
make  and  enforce  a  dog  law,  its  first  provision  would  be 
that  no  person  should  be  allowed  to  keep  a  dog  that  was 
not  perfectly  obedient  to  the  commands  "come  here," 
"to-ho,"  and  "heel."  With  one  ill-trained  in  these 
respects,  the  best-intentioned  master  is  not  able  to 
prevent  his  dog  from  injuring  persons  or  stock,  if  so 
inclined. 

To  teach  him  to  lie  down  at  command,  first  say  "to  ho," 
then  go  up  to  him,  and  repeating  the  command  "dowTi 
charge' '  in  a  quiet  tone  of  voice,  take  him  by  the  collar, 
put  one  hand  on  his  withers,  and  push  him  downward 
and  backward  until  you  force  him  to  the  ground.  Be 
sure  to  push  backward  as  well  as  downward,  otherwise 
you  might  injure  him.  Make  him  lie  still,  with  fore  legs 
extended  to  the  front  and  hind  legs  well  drawn  under. 
Do  not  allow  him  to  turn  on  his  side.  A  moderate  use  of 
the  whip  is  useful  in  this  lesson,  if  the  dog  is  stubborn. 
For  this  one  purpose  it  is  better  than  the  spike-collar. 


384  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

THE  POINTER. 

My  favorite  dog  for  upland  shooting  is  the  pointer;  yet 
I  can  not  claim  for  him  any  superiority  over  the  setter, 
save  that  his  coat  does  not  gather  burrs.  Other  claims 
that  are  urged  seem  to  me  without  foundation;  and  my 
preference  is  founded  solely  on  the  pleasure  I  take  in 
watching  the  play  of  the  muscles  unhidden  by  long  hair. 

The  bree'd  is  very  ancient.  As  far  back  as  we  can  trace 
it,  through  descriptions  by  writers  and  by  old  pictures, 
we  find  that  it  has  not  changed  in  the  least  in  form,  size, 
color,  or  habits.  In  certain  localities  where  special  work 
was  required,  varieties  have  been  developed  by  outcross- 
ing  to  other  breeds  and  by  selection;  but  as  regards  the 
breed  in  general,  there  has  been  no  change.  As  to  its 
origin,  nothing  is  known.  Italy,  Spain,  France,  and 
England  have  in  succession  excelled  in  its  production,  as 
each  has  for  the  time  led  the  taste  of  the  world  in  sport. 

Regarding  the  notion  of  a  hound  origin,  that  theory 
was  framed  when  natural  science  was  less  advanced  than 
now,  and  nothing  has  been  proved  to  support  it.  For  all 
we  know,  it  is  quite  as  likely  that  the  hound  is  derived 
from  the  pointer. 

But  we  do  know,  to  our  sorrow,  that  there  have  been 
hound  crosses  which  have  greatly  injured  the  pointer  in 
speed,  staunchness,  and  obedience.  Generations  of  care- 
ful breeding  and  inbreeding  have  been  required  to  bring 
him  back  to  his  old-time  quality,  which  we  are  now 
beginning  to  reach  in  the  best  strains. 

Under  careful  breeding  for  field  use,  the  pointer, 
wherever  found,  tends  to  assume  a  certain  type,  which  I 
will  now  describe: 

The  pointer  should  weigh  from  fifty  to  sixty  pounds, 
though  good  ones  are  often  of  greater  or  less  weight. 
(I  must  here  correct  an  almost  universal  error  regarding 
the  Spanish  pointer1  s  weight,  which  was  not  anywhere 


25 


(385) 


386  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

near  so  great  as  is  usually  supposed;  not  above  that  of 
the  heavy-weight  dogs  now  common  in  our  shows.)  In 
color  he  may  be  white,  with  liver,  lemon,  orange,  or  black 
spots;  or  he  may  be  solid  white,  black,  or  liver.  Liver 
and  white  and  lemon  and  white  are  now  the  favorite  colors. 
His  general  appearance  gives  the  impression  of  a  bold, 
frank,  dashing  dog,  carrying  his  head  high,  and  having 
his  shoulders  quite  above  the  level  of  his  quarters,  thus 
giving  a  decided  slope  to  the  line  of  his  back. 

He  should  be  bony  and  rugged  in  form.  Smoothly 
pretty  dogs  are  sometimes  good,  but  should  be  distrusted. 

In  detail,  the  description  is  as  follows,  with  scale  of 
points  adapted  from  Stonehenge,  but  with  valuations 
further  subdivided  for  the  more  easy  use  of  amateurs: 

The  general  aspect  of  the  head  must  be  lean  and  bony. 
The  skull  (ten  points)  should  be  of  good  size,  wider 
between  the  ears  than  that  of  the  setter,  with  forehead 
rising  well  at  the  brows.  There  must  be  a  well-developed 
occipital  protuberance  (P.  385,  Fig.  1),  and  the  upper  sur- 
face must  be  in  two  slightly  rounded  flats,  with  a  furrow 
between.  The  nose  (ten  points)  should  be  long  (about  4£ 
inches)  and  broad,  with  widely  open  nostrils.  The  end 
must  be  moist  and  cool  to  the  touch.  Its  color  should  be 
black  or  dark  brown,  but  in  lemon  and  white  dogs  may 
be  of  a  deep  flesh-color.  It  should  be  cut  off  square, 
and  not  pointed;  teeth  meeting  evenly.  An  upper  jaw 
projecting  far  over  the  lower  is  called  "  snipey''  (Fig.  3), 
and  is  a  grave  defect,  which  superficial  judges  confound 
with  lack  of  lip,  which  is  a  trifling  defect.  Ears 
(1£  points)  soft  in  coat,  moderately  long,  and  thin 
in  Iqather,  set  on  low,  and  flat  to  the  cheeks,  without 
any  tendency  to  prick.  Eyes  (1-|  points)  soft,  and  of 
medium  size,  brown  in  color,  varying  in  shade  according 
to  that  of  the  coat.  Lips  (one  point)  sufficiently  devel- 
oped to  give  a  square  appearance  to  the  muzzle,  but  not 


POINTERS  A>'D   SETTERS. 


387 


pendulous,  like  those  of  the  hound.  The  neck  (six 
points)  should  be  arched  toward  the  head,  long  and 
round,  without  dewlap  or  ' '  throatiness' '  (Fig.  2).  The 
shoulders  (seven  points)  should  slope  backward,  like 
those  of  a  race-horse,  and  be  strongly  muscled  and  very 


Fig.  2.-'  THROATY." 


Fig.  3.— "SNIPEY." 


loosely  set  on,  so  as  to  have  perfect  freedom  of  action. 
The  chest  (eight  points)  must  be  deep  and  narrow,  with 
breast-bone  sloping  rapidly  upward  in  front.  Behind 
the  shoulders  the  ribs  should  gradually  spring  to 
greater  width  with  extreme  fullness  well  back  where 
it  will  not  interfere  with  shoulder  action  (Fig.  4,  A  B). 
The  back  ribs  should  also  be  deep  to  give  room  for 
well-developed  internal  organs.  The  back  (seven  points) 
should  present  the  general  outline  of  a  low  arch,  sprung 


Fig.  4.-TOP  VIEW. 


from  a  point  as  close  behind  the  shoulders  as  possible, 
and  extending  to  the  root  of  the  tail,  the  curvature  being 
somewhat  lessened  toward  the  hips,  whence  it  droops 
slightly  to  the  quarters.  The  loin  should  be  full  of 
muscle,  running  well  up  on  the  back  ribs,  but  must 


388 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


not  be  so  heavy  as  to  lose  its  suppleness.     The  hips 
should  be  wide  and  bony,  with  jjronoiinced  angles. 

The  quarters  (five  points)  should  be  powerfully 
muscled,  but  their  best  quality  is  indicated  by  width 
rather  than  thickness  of  the  ham.  Thick,  showy  hams 
indicate  great  development  of  certain  muscles  little  used 
in  the  work  of  running,  while  the  wide  ham  indicates 
the  development  of  those  most  needed.  The  after-part 
of  the  ham  should  seem  to  reach  low  down  on  the  ' '  second 
thigh"  (Fig.  5,  A).  The  stifles  (three  points)  should  be 
letdown  low  by  great  length  of  femur  (thigh-bone);  must 

be  well  bent,  and  carried  widely 
apart,  so  as  to  allow  the  legs  to  be 
reached  well  forward  in  the  gal- 
lop, giving  a  long  stride.  The 
bend  of  stifle  comes  from  the 
length  of  femur  and  the  dog's  habit 
of  hunting  with  head  up,  to  feel 
for  the  body  scent;  whereas  a  fast 
hound  must  also  have  a  long 
femur,  without  which  his  action 
would  be  weak,  but  from  his  habit 
of  carrying  his  head  low  he  stands 
high  behind  and  has  a  straight 
stifle.  Legs  (four  points)  must  be 
straight ;  should  have  good  strength 
of  bone  in  both  shanks  and  joints, 
and  the  "second  thigh"  should 
be  well  muscled  (Fig.  5,  A).  The 
elbows  (three  points)  must  be  let 
down  as  far  as  possible,  and  should 
be  turned  neither  out  nor  in — the  former  being  the 
lesser  fault.  They  should  be  very  loose  and  free  in  their 
action,  not  closely  bound  to  the  side.  The  hocks  (three 
points)  should  be  strong,  bony,  and  very  firm  against  flex- 


Fig.  5.— REAR  VIEW. 


POINTERS   AND   SETTERS.  389 

ion  to  the  rear.  They  should  be  slightly  turned  in,  or 
"cow-hocked,"  a  formation  necessarily  accompanying 
the  out-turned  stifle  (Fig.  5,  B).  The  pasterns  (two  points) 
should  be  short,  nearly  but  not  quite  upright,  and  suffi- 
ciently strong  in  bone.  The  feet  (eight  points)  should 
have  strong,  well-arched  toes,  set  close  together,  with 
hard,  horny  pads  beneath.  Strength  and  arch  of  toe  and 
hardness  of  pads  are  for  work;  closeness  of  toes,  for 
beauty  rather  than  for  use. 

The  tail  (five  points)  must  be  strong  in  bone  at  the 
root,  but  diminish  as  it  leaves  the  body,  and  gradually 
taper  to  a  point.  It  should  be  carried  a  little  above  the 
line  of  the  back,  without  any  tendency  to  curl  at  the  tip. 
Symmetry  and  quality  (seven  points)  involve  what  is 
usually  expressed  by  the  word  style,  as  well  as  a  gener- 
ally high  and  well-balanced  endowment  of  the  essential 
features  of  the  breed.  As  an  indication  of  good  breed- 
ing, this  is  a  very  important  count  in  selecting  a 
pointer. 

The  coat  (three  points)  should  be  soft  to  the  eye,  but 
hard  and  dense  to  the  touch.  The  color  (five  points) 
admits  of  great  variety,  as  above  stated,  but  should  be 
bright  and  clear,  with  distinct  markings.  (Total — 100 
points.) 

The  "speed  lines,"  so  called,  are  identical  in  both 
pointers  and  setters.  While  their  possession  is  the  proof 
of  great  merit,  one  should  not  accept  an  animal  for 
breeding  purposes  that  does  not  also  possess  in  a  high 
decree  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  breed.  Beware 
of  hound-like  or  greyhound-like  pointers,  or  of  setters 
with  spaniel  or  collie  appearances  about  them.  In  regard 
to  strength  of  limbs,  that  depends  not  on  bulk  of  bone  so 
much  as  on  good  articulation.  Short  and  square  joints 
are  weak,  no  matter  how  much  bone.  Good  joints 
should  reach  far  up  and  down  the  limb,  while  their 


390 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


points  of  junction  with  the  shank  on  one  side  of  the  joint 
should  be  much  higher  or  lower  than  on  the  other,  but 
never  squarely  opposite  (as  A  B  and  C  D,  Fig.  6). 
On  one  side  of  the  limb,  a  good  joint  will  seem  to  reach 
far  up,  and  on  the  other  side  far  down  it. 

Pay  great  attention  to  this,  as  it  has  much  to  do  with 
soundness  and  endurance.  The  speed  lines  require  (Fig. 
1)  A  B  long  and  sloping  (can  be  tested  by  touch  better 

than  by  sight),  B  C,  D  E,  E 
F,  and  F  G  as  long  as  possi- 
ble. A  good  arch  of  back, 
I  H,  with  point  H  as  far  for- 
ward as  possible.  Great 
depth  from  L  to  K.  G  M 
and  N  O  quite  short.  Line 
of  breast-bone  from  K  to  J 
sloping  rapidly  upward  (Fig. 
1).  This  analysis  of  the  lines 
applies  to  all  the  setters  as 
well  as  pointers.  The  pointer 
has  been  used  for  illustra- 
tions of  these  points,  because 
his  hair  does  not  obscure  the 
form. 

I  will  also  explain  that 
for  my  illustrations  I  have 
preferred  to  take  from  my  portfolio  exact  drawings  of 
dogs  of  known  merit,  without  idealizing  any  features  to 
give  what  I  conceive  to  be  ultimate  perfection  in  any 
part.  I  think  it  better  to  familiarize  the  eye  with  such 
degrees  of  merit  as  are  often  to  be  met,  rather  than  with 
ideals  that  might  never  be  realized. 

In  considering  the  action  of  pointers  and  setters,  we 
must  keep  in  view  the  fact  that  the  animals  are  required 
to  run  for  a  long  time  at  great  speed,  therefore  their 


Fig.  6.— FRONT  VIEW. 


POINTERS   AND   SETTERS.  391 

form  must  be  such  as  to  promote  the  best  staying  gait, 
which  is  quite  different  from  that  which  would  give  the 
most  rapid  spurt. 

The  action  in  a  staying  gallop  consists  mainly  in  pro- 
pulsion from  the  shoulder.  A  fore  foot  moved  by  mus- 
cles connected  with  the  shoulder,  throws  the  animal  clear 
of  the  ground  when  he  makes  his  spring.  As  he  flies 
through  the  air,  he  reaches  forward  with  his  hind  feet, 
and,  touching  the  ground  first  with  one  and  then  the 
other,  carries  the  body  forward  until  one  fore  foot  has 
touched  the  ground,  when  the  hind  feet  are  successively 
drawn  up,  and  the  other  fore  foot  is  brought  down  in 
position  to  repeat  the  spring.  I  find  the  popular  opin- 
ion is  that  the  dog  springs  off  with  his  hind  feet,  and 
alights  on  his  fore  feet,  but  this  is  only  true  when  he  is 
jumping  over  obstacles,  or  when  pushed  to  the  utmost 
speed.  In  the  latter  case,  when  he  can  run  no  faster  on 
his  shoulder  action,  he  begins  also  to  spring  off  with  one 
hind  foot,  and  alight  on  one  fore  foot,  but  this  spring  is 
never  as  long  as  the  fore  foot  spring,  which  is  still  kept 
up.  This  run  consists  of  alternate  springs  from  fore  and 
hind  feet,  and  represents  the  extreme  of  possible  speed. 
No  animal  can  long  endure  the  shock  at  shoulders  and 
pasterns  of  alighting  on  the  fore  feet  after  a  spring  from 
behind,  so  this  gait  is  useful  only  for  a  spurt;  but  an 
animal  who  is  light  both  in  build  and  actual  weight,  can 
endure  it  longer  than  a  heavier  one.  The  greyhound  is 
especially  adapted  to  this  form  of  running. 

Pointers  and  setters  should  be  chosen  with  especial 
reference  to  their  shoulders,  rather  than  to  their  hind 
quarters. 

THE   ENGLISH    SETTER. 

I  have  just  observed  that  Webster's  Dictionary 
describes  the  setter  as  "a  hunting  dog  of  the  hound 
kind."  Other  authorities  describe  him  as  a  kind  of 


392 


UPLAND    SHOOTING. 


spaniel.*  But  I  discover,  on  study  of  old  books  and  old 
pictures,  that  these  breeds  have  been  separate  and  distinct 
in  the  most  ancient  times  of  which  we  have  any  record. 
Science  may  indeed  hold  that  ages  ago  they  had  a 
common  origin,  and  to  a  naturalist  their  resemblances 
are  of  interest;  but  their  value  to  the  sportsman  depends 
upon  their  differences  of  form  and  habit,  and  he  is  prin- 
cipally interested  in  knowing  that  they  have  been  so 
long  and  so  entirely  distinct  that  any  result  of  inter- 
crossing can  be  easily  bred  out  again.  In  the  year  1700, 


Fig,  7.— ENGLISH  SETTERS.— BY  FRANCOIS  OESPORTES. 


the  fashionable  type  of  English  setter  was  what  is  shown 
in  the  illustration,  from  a  painting  by  Francois  Desportes 
(Fig.  7).  It  will  be  observed  that  it  was  then  the  practice 
to  clip  the  feather  of  the  tail.  The  other  drawing  shows 
the  field-trial  type  of  to-day.  Barring  the  fact  that  many 
Laverack  and  Llewellyn  setters  have  too  much  occipital 
protuberance,  the  legacy,  perhaps,  of  a  Gordon  or  Irish 

*I  find  it  stated  in  various  encyclopedias  that  the  setter  results  from  a 
cross  between  the  spaniel  and  the  pointer.  I  think  this  is  completely  dis- 
proved by  the  fact  that  in  crosses  between  the  setter  and  the  spaniel  the 
setter  blood  is  most  prepotent,  and  stamps  itself  most  strongly  on  the  prog- 
eny, which  would  not  be  the  case  if  the  spaniel  were  the  purer  breed. 


POINTERS   AXD   SETTERS.  393 

cross,  they  give  us  the  true  race  type  of  the  English 
setter  as  he  existed  in  Europe  for  several  centuries.  In 
stating  that  for  a  number  of  years  this  breed  has  eclipsed 
all  others  in  the  field,  I  wish  to  record  my  belief  that  it 
results  from  the  fact  that  the  appearance  of  the  coat  has 
protected  the  breed  from  the  hound,  greyhound,  and 
bull-dog  crosses  that  have  so  injured  the  pointer. 

Such  crosses  injure  the  appearance  of  the  setter's  coat 
so  much  that  their  results  are  weeded  oat. 

Spaniel,  collie,  and  poodle  crosses  hurt  the  coat  less, 
and  are,  to  some  degree,  allowed  to  remain,  but  they  do 
infinitely  less  damage  to  the  working  instincts  of  a  bird 
dog  than  the  smooth-haired  crosses  that  have  been 
allowed  to  pollute  the  best  pointer  blood,  and  which 
have  only  been  bred  out  again  in  a  few  strains. 

The  weight  of  the  English  setter  should  approximate 
that  of  the  pointer,  but  will  average  a  little  less. 

Like  the  pointer,  the  setter  should  stand  high  at  the 
shoulder  and  low  at  the  rump,  and  there  is  much  that  is 
identical  in  the  proportions  of  working  parts.  But  there 
are  essential  differences  marking  the  race  tjrpe,  and  these 
are  important  as  indices  of  merit,  although  we  should  be 
at  a  loss  to  explain  their  connection  with  the  dog' s  work. 

The  scale  of  points  is  the  same  as  for  the  pointer, 
except  in  regard  to  coat,  and  to  symmetry  and  quality, 
which  are  rated  at  five  points  each. 

The  skull  should  be  lighter  and  narrower  between  the 
ears  than  the  pointer's,  and  should  be  without  the  occipi- 
tal protuberance,  although  when  that  is  present  it  is  but 
a  trifling  fault.  The  nose  should  be  at  least  four  inches 
long,  and  wide  at  the  end.  Between  the  point  and  root 
there  should  be  no  fullness,  and  the  brows  must  rise 
sharply  from  it.  The  nostrils  should  be  wide  apart,  with 
large  openings;  end  moist  and  cool;  color,  black,  or  dark 
brown;  jaws  exactly  equal  in  length.  The  ears  should  be 


394  rPLAXD    SHOOTING. 

shorter  than  those  of  the  pointer,  slightly  rounded,  thin, 
and  soft  in  leather;  carried  flat  to  the  cheeks,  so  as  not  to 
show  the  inside;  destitute  of  tendency  to  prick,  and 
clothed  with  silky  hair  about  two  inches  long. 

The  eyes  should  be  of  medium  size,  bright,  rich  brown 
in  color,  and  set  with  angles  straight  across.  Lips  not  so 
long  as  the  pointer's,  but  slightly  full  at  the  angles. 

The  neck  is  thinner  and  flatter  than  the  pointer's,  and 
less  arched,  though  still  slightly  so.  It  should  be  well 


Fig.  8. -ENGLISH  SETTER. 

set  on  the  shoulders,  not  "ewe-necked."  Though  the 
skin  is  loose,  there  must  be  no  throatiness.  The  shoul- 
ders and  chest  must  be  as  described  for  the  pointer.  The 
same  is  true  of  back,  quarters,  stifles,  legs,  elbows,  and 
hocks,  save  that  the  hips  should  be  less  angular  and 
bony. 

The  feet  differ  in  having  a  good  deal  of  hair  between 
the  toes,  owing  to  which  advantage  they  will  do  with  less 
arch  of  toe.  The  tail  should  be  carried  slightly  above 
the  line  of  the  back,  though  a  higher  carriage  is  admissi- 
ble if  there  be  no  curl.  The  feather  should  be  of  straight, 


POINTERS   AND   SETTERS.  395 

silky  hair,  and  of  good  length,  tapering  to  the  point,  and 
giving  an  outline  like  a  scythe-blade. 

Symmetry  and  quality  form  a  less  valuable  index  to 
a  setter's  merit  than  to  a  pointer's,  and  are  rated  at  only 
five  points.  In  general  terms,  they  should  give  a  style 
suggesting  more  of  softness  and  grace  and  less  of  rugged 
strength  than  the  pointers.  While  smooth  prettiness  of 
form  is  of  bad  augury  as  to  working  ability  in  the 
pointer,  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  very  good  sign  of  field 
quality  in  an  English  setter.  The  coat  is  rated  at  five 
points,  and  is  very  important.  It  should  be  soft  and 
silky,  without  curl.  The  color  should  be  bright  and 
clean.  It  offers  the  same  variety  as  the  pointer's,  with 
the  addition  that  tan-markings  are  often  found  with 
black  and  white,  and  are  very  much  admired.  When  the 
white  is  interspersed  with  a  profusion  of  small,  delicately 
shaded  ticks  it  is  called  "belton,"  and  is  very  handsome. 

THE   BLACK-AND-TAN,    OR   GORDON,    SETTER. 

The  black-and-tan,  or  Gordon,  setter  has  appeared  to 
less  advantage  in  America  than  other  breeds.  In  public 
trials  he  has  done  little,  and  in  private  I  have  not  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  see  a  brilliant  performer,  though  of 
good,  steady,  practical  dogs  not  a  few,  especially  show- 
ing to  advantage  on  snipe-marshes  or  in  dense  coverts. 
It  has  been  claimed  by  some  breeders  that  a  smaller  and 
more  lightly  built  Gordon  could  be  bred,  which  would 
equal  the  English  setter  in  speed  and  endurance. 

On  theoretical  grounds,  I  have  been  inclined  to  favor 
this  idea,  and  were  I  breeding  Gordons,  would  certainly 
try  it.  Unfortunately,  such  light  weights  as  I  have  seen 
in  the  field  were  inferior  to  those  of  heavier  build. 
Speaking,  then,  from  what  knowledge  I  have  been  able 
to  gain,  I  must  prefer  the  heavy  type  until  the  advan- 
tages of  the  light  dogs  shall  have  been  demonstrated. 


396 


UPLAND    SHOOTING. 


These  dogs  are  to  be  recommended  chiefly  for  their 
great  beauty,  and  for  their  special  adaptation  to  the  use 
of  the  sportsmen  of  the  North  and  the  East,  where  small 
fields,  swampy  ground,  and  dense  coverts  are  principally 
to  be  worked.  The  points  of  the  Gordon  setter  are  the 
same  as  those  of  the  English,  but  the  appearance  of  the 
dogs  differs  in  many  respects,  as  follows: 


Fig.  9  —GORDON  SETTER. 

The  general  outline  of  the  dog  is  more  square  and 
massive,  and  the  actual  weight  is  considerably  greater. 

The  skull  is  heavier,  and  has  more  occipital  protuber- 
ance. 

The  nose  is  a  little  wider;  the  feather  of  the  tail  is 
shorter,  and  does  not  begin  so  near  the  root. 

The  coat  is  harder  and  coarser,  and  shows  more  dispo- 
sition to  curl,  though  the  less  of  this  the  better. 

The  color  should  be  a  rich  black,  without  mixture 
with  the  tan,  and  the  latter  should  be  of  a  deep  ma- 


POINTERS   AND   SETTEES.  397 

hogany  tone,  appearing  on  lips,  cheeks,  throat,  spot  over 
eyes,  fore  legs  nearly  to  elbow,  hind  legs  up  to  stifles, 
and  on  under  side  of  flag,  but  not  running  into  the  long 
hair.  There  may  be  a  spot  of  white  on  breast  or  toes, 
but  the  less  the  better. 

Many  of  the  best  specimens  of  this  breed  are  too 
straight  in  stifles  and  tight  in  shoulders  to  run  well,  but 
the  proper  type,  as  I  conceive  it,  should  be  built  much 
like  a  bear — loose- jointed,  with  elbows  let  far  down  and 
hocks  very  low,  giving  an  easy,  rolling  gait,  admirably 
adapted  to  getting  over  bad  ground. 

Such  dogs  are  rare,  and  the  owner  of  one  has  a  treas- 
ure he  can  not  too  highly  prize. 

I  consider  this  to  be  distinctly  a  Scotch  breed,  and 
probably  quite  ancient,  though  I  have  not  been  able  to 
trace  it  to  such  antiquity  as  the  English  setter. 

THE   IRISH   SETTER. 

The  very  best  field  dog  I  ever  saw  was  an  Irish  setter; 
yet,  seek  as  I  will,  I  do  not  find  enough  such  dogs  to  put 
the  breed  on  a  par  with  either  English  setters  or  pointers. 
It  is  common  to  account  for  the  infrequency  of  good  per- 
formers by  saying  that  the  Irish  dog  needs  more  train- 
ing and  constant  work;  but  this  will  not  account  for 
the  fact  that  these  exceptionally  good  dogs  are  very 
tractable  and  easy  to  handle,  and  are  no  more  rank  than 
other  dogs  at  the  beginning  of  the  open  season. 
My  own  way  of  accounting  for  the  facts  is  this : 
I  consider  that  the  "bird  dogs"  are  true  and  ancient 
breeds,  whose  instincts  regarding  their  approach  to  game 
have  been  fixed  for  ages  so  firmly,  that  they  can  only  be 
disturbed  by  the  introduction  of  the  blood  of  some  other 
breed  having  conflicting  instincts.  Such  outcrosses  have 
been  frequent  in  all  times,  and  the  remedy  for  the 
damage  they  occasion  is  usually  found  in  inbreeding, 


398 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


whereby  the  proportion  of  the  alien  blood  is  speedily 
diminished. 

But  it  may  happen  that  the  outcross  has  been  to  some 
extremely  prepotent  breed,  when,  if  the  infusion  be 
strong  in  a  given  strain,  inbreeding  will  rather  strengthen 
than  diminish  its  effects.  Something  like  this  seems 
to  have  happened  to  some  of  the  Irish  setter  strains  most 


Fig.  10.— IRISH  SETTER. 

extensively  bred  here.  Their  faults  appear  to  be  aug- 
mented rather  than  diminished  by  inbreeding. 

The  remedy  will  be  found  in  uniting  the  blood  of 
many  separate  strains,  in  order  to  get  in  as  much  as  pos- 
sible that  is  free  from  the  particular  taint  in  question. 
A  good  Irish  dog  is  so  exceedingly  good,  that  no  pains 
should  be  spared  to  make  the  breeding  of  them  more  sure. 

For  those  who  shoot  a  great  deal,  and  work  the  same 
dog  on  a  great  variety  of  game,  there  is  no  dog  like  a 
good  Irish  setter. 


POINTERS   AND   SETTERS.  399 

Hard,  courageous,  fast,  and  with  endurance  une- 
qualed,  with  a  beautiful  coat  and  cleanly  habits  to  rec- 
ommend him  as  a  house  dog,  he  will  always  be  a  favorite 
with  the  men  who  keep  but  one  dog. 

The  points  are  the  same  as  for  the  English  setter,  but 
the  description  differs  materially,  and  while  such  has  not 
been  the  practice  in  show- judging,  I  believe  it  is  of  the 
highest  importance  to  this  breed  that  all  such  differences 
should  be  made  the  most  of. 

The  skull  should  be  longer  and  narrower  than  the 
English  setter' s,  with  strong  occipital  protuberance. 

The  nose  is  longer,  and  the  end  is  of  a  reddish  brown 
color,  and  should  not  be  pink  or  black. 

The  eyes  should  be  deep  brown  in  color — a  pale  eye  is 
a  blemish.  Ears  long  enough  to  reach  within  about  half 
an  inch  of  the  end  of  the  nose,  set  on  low  and  well  back, 
hanging  close  to  the  cheeks.  Lips  deep  enough  to  give 
a  square  appearance  to  the  muzzle,  but  not  pendulous; 
whiskers  red.  The  shoulders  are  very  long  and  sloping; 
chest  deep  and  narrow,  with  back  ribs  shorter  than  the 
English  setter's,  giving  more  the  appearance  of  being  cut 
up  under  the  loin.  Loin  narrower  than  the  English  set- 
ter's, yet  well  arched  and  strong;  hips  also  narrower,  and 
more  bony.  Legs  rather  long,  with  elbows  well  let  down, 
and  very  free ;  stifles  very  much  bent ;  quarters  quite 
sloping,  and,  though  muscular,  not  heavy.  The  tail  is 
clothed  with  straight  hair,  falling  down  like  a  comb; 
never  bushy  nor  curly. 

The  coat  should  be  of  moderately  coarse,  but  glossy, 
hair,  which  may  be  wavy,  but  not  curly.  The  legs  are 
well,  but  not  profusely,  feathered.  The  color  should  be 
a  rich  red,  of  a  burnt  sienna  tone,  without  any  black 
hairs  interspersed.  There  may  be  a  little  white  on  the 
breast  or  toes,  or  a  blaze  in  the  face,  but  the  less  the 
better. 


400  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  general  appearance  of  the  Irish  setter  is  of  a  slen- 
der, rather  leggy  dog,  somewhat  gaunt,  his  ribs  showing, 
even  when  in  good  condition.  His  style  is  most  taking, 
being  very  bold,  free,  and  dashing.  I  have  found  an  old 
dog  of  this  breed  to  be  the  best  of  all  for  use  on  ruffed 
grouse.  This  bird  flushes  very  wild  before  a  white  or 
black  dog,  but  apparently  mistakes  the  red  dog  for  a  fox, 
and  lies  much  better,  since  it  expects  to  escape  easily 
from  any  closer  approach,  and,  seeing  the  dog  motionless, 
does  not  take  wing  until  alarmed  by  the  approach  of  the 
hunter,  thus  affording  a  shot;  or,  if  flushed  by  the  dog, 
the  bird  will  usually  alight  in  some  tree  near  by. 

In  concluding  this  brief  review  of  our  field  dogs,  I 
would  be  glad  to  dispel  the  doubts  and  distrust  so  many 
entertain  regarding  our  dog  shows  and  trials.  Accus- 
tomed to  take  part  in  public  competitions  of  various 
kinds,  I  have  ever  found  these  to  be  the  best-conducted 
and  most  correctly  judged  of  all,  and  I  am  able  to  act  in 
reliance  on  their  results  as  a  guide  to  merit.  The  often 
assumed  discrepancy  between  field  trials  and  shows  is 
merely  imaginary.  The  dog  who  wins  in  the  one  will 
make  a  good  record  in  the  other  so  constantly  as  to  be  a 
matter  of  surprise.  Theory  and  practice  are  not  alwa ys  to 
be  found  in  such  good  accord  as  here.  Yet  there  are 
influences,  coming  mostly  from  across  the  ocean,  that  are 
seeking  to  create  and  uphold  a  purely  show  type  for 
these  dogs,  in  complete  antagonism  to  that  which  has 
been  established  and  confirmed  by  centuries  of  field  work. 
It  is  for  our  practical  sportsmen  to  unite  in  resistance  to 
such  innovations,  and  jealously  to  preserve  the  ancestral 
form  of  each  breed. 

To  all  who  love  dogs,  there  is  the  constant  temptation 
to  have  too  many,  resulting  in  the  necessity  of  confining 
them  to  the  kennel-yard,  where  they  will  not  thrive.  No 
dog  can  be  happy  and  well  unless  free  to  enjoy  the 


POINTERS   AND    SETTERS. 


401 


society  of  his  master,  and  be  in  truth  a  member  of  his 
family.  To  have  the  best  results,  therefore,  one  should 
keep  only  as  many  as  can  be  admitted  to  such  privileges. 
I  have  never  looked  in  one  of  the  great  kennels  where  a 
swarm  of  dogs  was  kept,  without  thinking  of  children  in 
some  great  asylum,  where  there  might  indeed  be  every 
comfort  and  luxury,  but,  after  all,  no  home.  Though 
the  fare  be  coarse  and  scanty,  still  man  or  dog  will  thrive 
best  where  there  is  close  personal  sympathy  and  compan- 
ionship. 


26 


THE  CA]SYAS-BACK  DUCK. 


BY  WILLIAM  BRUCE  LEFFINGWELL. 


I  HERE  is  a  charm  in  the  scenes  of  early  life 
that  passing  years  can  only  recall  in 
most  delightful  memories,  and 
things  we  loved  best,  when 
children,  still  cling  fondly  to 
us,  and  our  riper  years  only  add  to 
their  remembrances.  Then  it  is  that  the  boyish 
hunter,  when  he  arrives  at  manhood's  estate, 
recalls  with  deepest  fervor  those  incidents  which 
afforded  him  the  greatest  pleasure,  when,  as  a  child,  he 
trod  the  carpet  of  the  forest  green,  clambering  the  hill- 
sides, or  communed  in  sweetest  harmony  with  the  feath- 
ered songsters  in  the  glen,  or,  with  hook,  rod,  and  line, 
made  by  his  own  ingenious  fingers,  captured  the  finny 
tribe,  in  tempting  spots,  where  his  inquisitiveness  taught 
him  to  try;  and  so  the  man,  when  called  upon  by  some 
enthusiast  to  name  the  bird  he  prizes  above  all  others, 
will  at  once  recall  to  mind  the  days  when  he  was  a 
boy,  and  the  lessons  he  learned  then,  under  the  silent 
trees,  studying  the  birds  as  Nature  made  them,  in  the 
warm  and  budding  spring-time,  when  the  mellow  wind 
pervades  forest,  stream,  and  field,  and  instinct  told  these 
birds  to  mate,  build  their  nests,  and  rear  th<eir  young. 

When  one  has,  as  a  boy,  had  opportunities  for  study 
and  observation,  has  grown  up  among  the  wilds  of  semi- 
civilization,  and  has  passed  hours,  and  days,  watching 
and  studying  birds  in  their  wild  state,  the  silvered  years 

(403) 


404 


UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 


of  manhood  touch  the  chords  of  departed  years,  and  his 
heart  vibrates  with  the  memories  of  those  days,  gone  for- 
ever, but  engraved  for  life  upon  his  mind,  never  to  be 
effaced;  and  so  it  is  that  every  experienced  hunter 
loves  some  particular  bird  best.  The  foundation  on 
which  is  built  his  love  was  formed  in  years  gone  by;  for, 
if  the  pinnated  grouse,  the  vision  of  the  past  is  before  his 
eyes — the  boundless  prairies  he  visited  and  settled  on  in 

early  days,  the  constant 
presence  of  these  birds, 
their  booming  cries  in 
early  spring,  the  pursuit 
of  them  in  autumnal  days, 
and  their  most  excellent 
flavor. 

Another  mind  reverts  to 
a  time  when  there  floated, 
in  sweet,  delicious  strains, 
through  the  dewy  morn- 
ing a  plaintive  "Bob 
White,  Bob  White/'  and 
silvered  fields  were  white 
in  shrouds  of  frost,  while 
dogs  were  racing  in 
fevered  anticipation  of 


secreted  game.  While  another,  whose  heart  is  softened 
by  the  sweet  solitude  of  pathless  woods,  is  bound,  by  the 
strongest  ties  of  early  affection,  to  the  bosky  wood, 
beneath  whose-  silent  trees  his  very  being  has  time  and 
again  been  startled  into  feverish  excitement,  as  the  ruffed 
grouse  sprang  from  its  hiding-place,  or  when,  in  stealthy 
silence,  he  has  tried  to  draw  himself  into  faintest  obscurity 
on  hearing  the  distant  gobble,  or  the  nearer  "put,  put," 
of  the  much-prized  wild  turkey.  And  so  it  is  that  to 
assemble  a  body  of  sportsmen,  each  individual  would 


TIIK    (  AXVAS-I3ACK    DUCK.  405 

champion  some  game  bird  as  the  one  par  excellence,  in 
his  estimation,  one  fit  to  be  crowned  king  of  game  birds. 

It  is  the  belief  of  many,  that  the  height  of  sporting 
pleasures,  with  the  gun,  can  only  be  obtained  in  conjunc- 
tion with  a  setter  or  pointer,  and  this  is  the  opinion  gen- 
erally, and  has  been  from  time  immemorial.  Kings  and 
princes  have  enjoyed  their  greatest  sport  when  in  com- 
pany with  well-trained  dogs.  While  we  can  not  boast  of 
the  blood -royal  coursing  through  our  veins,  still,  there 
has  never  existed  one  of  royal  birth  who  enjoys  sports 
afield  more  than  the  average  citizen  of  America. 

It  is  our  existence,  born  free,  breathing  the  pure  air 
of  the  grandest  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth  from 
toddling  infancy,  having  our  ears  filled  with  tales  of 
the  chase,  seeing  our  fathers  and  brothers  going  forth  in 
the  morning,  wandering  where  they  chose,  returning  at 
night  laden  with  game — the  game  belonging  to  no  man 
until  captured — no  wonder  that  we  inherit  a  love  for 
shooting,  and  fishing,  and  all  out-of-door  recreation. 

I  had  sent  me,  the  other  day,  a  proof  of  the  excellent 
illustration  gracing  Mr.  Baines'  article  on  "  Wild  Tur- 
key Shooting"  in  this  book.  While  looking  at  it,  and 
admiring  the  alert  expression,  the  bold,  yet  startled, 
look  of  the  bird,  a  friend  of  mine  called.  I  knew  him  to 
have  had  great  experience  in  hunting  turkeys,  and,  with- 
out saying  a  word,  handed  him  the  illustration.  He 
gazed  at  it  intently,  studied  it  fully  a  minute,  then,  lay- 
ing it  down  on  my  desk,  said:  ' '  Tliere  is  a  perfect  portrait 
of  the  shrewdest,  wildest,  and  most  cunning  bird  that 
ever  spread  wings.  Look  at  him!  He  was  traveling 
along  without  any  suspicion;  he  has  heard  a  stick  break, 
a  distant  voice,  or  some  noise  he  mistrusts,  and  now  he 
listens  to  learn  what's  up.  I  tell  you,  the  American  wild 
turkey  ought  to  have  been  selected  as  the  bird  emblem- 
atic of  our  country,  for  he  is  the  king  of  game  birds." 


406  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

"Why,"  said  I,  laughingly,  "I  have  just  received  a  let- 
ter from  a  friend  on  the  Chesapeake,  and  he  uses  almost 
your  language,  only  he  says  the  canvas-back  duck  is 
entitled  to  the  crown."  I  wished  so  much,  then,  that 
the  two  advocates  could  have  been  present,  for  their 
discussion  would  have  afforded  me  both  pleasure  and 
profit.  Both  past  the  middle  age  of  life,  one  reared  in 
the  East,  on  the  Chesapeake,  the  other  brought  up  in  the 
West,  where  game  could  be  had  for  the  seeking,  and  who 
had  bagged  hundreds  of  turkeys,  surely  none  could  be 
found  more  competent  or  experienced  than  they,  and 
yet  each  proclaimed  the  bird  he  knew  best  as  the  noblest 
game  bird  in  existence. 

When  one  seeks  the  canvas-back  duck  of  to-day,  he 
little  knows,  that  is,  if  a  young  man,  of  the  great  abun- 
dance that  once  existed  of  these  birds.  It  is  generally 
supposed  that,  in  the  Chesapeake  Bay  and  Eastern 
waters,  the  birds  are  found  in  greatest  plenty,  and  many 
believe  that  they  are  a  bird  so  rare,  and  so  delicious  in 
their  flavor,  that  they  confine  their  presence  entirely  to  the 
East.  This  is  not  so,  as  they  are  found,  at  times,  in  the 
Middle  and  Western  States,  while  in  California  and 
Oregon  they  are  fully  as  plenty  as  in  the  regions  of  the 
Chesapeake.  Where  food  is  plenty — the  food  which 
they  especially  like,  and  which  gives  to  them  the  deli- 
cious flavor  for  which  they  are  noted,  the  Valisneria 
spiralis — there  they  may  be  found.  Some  are  shot  in 
the  marshes  and  lakes  of  Illinois,  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Indi- 
ana, Minnesota,  and  other  Northern  and  Western  States, 
the  places  they  go  to  depending  entirely  upon  the  food 
to  be  obtained. 

Canvas-back  ducks  are  deep-water  ducks,  and  seek 
their  food  in  an  entirely  different  manner  from  the  mal- 
lards and  other  shoal-water  ducks,  which  feed  similarly 
to  tame  ducks,  for  canvas-backs  get  their  food  by  div- 


THE  CANVAS-BACK   DUCK.  407 

ing,  disappearing  completely  from  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  re-appearing  with  the  food  in  their  mouths. 
Their  food,  the  Valisneria  spiralis,  is  a  bulbous  plant 
which  grows  in  deep  water  in  some  inland  lakes  and 
bays.  The  plant  is  described  scientifically  as  follows: 

"  Valisneria  spiralis. — A  genus  of  plant  remarkable 
on  account  of  the  very  curious  manner  in  which  the  pro- 
cess of  fertilization  is  effected.  A  perennial  herb,  bearing 
a  tuft  of  thin,  narrow,  green,  grass-like  leaves.  The  two 
sexes  are  borne  on  separate  plants.  The  male  flowers  are 
extremely  minute  and  sensile,  but  when  mature  they 
become  detached  and  rise  to  the  surface  of  the  water. 
The  female  plants,  on  the  other  hand,  are  borne  singly  on 
the  end  of  a  long,  slender,  spirally -twisted  stalk,  uncoils 
more  or  less,  according  to  the  depth  of  the  water,  so  as 
to  allow  the  flower  to  float  on  the  surface,  where  it 
expands,  and  is  fertilized  by  the  floating  pollen,  after 
which  the  spiral  stem  coils  up  again  and  conveys  the 
flowers  to  the  bottom  of  the  water." 

Mr.  E.  Hough,  in  a  recent  communication  to  the  Forest 
and  Stream,  having  investigated  the  Valisneria  spiralis 
in  its  home,  thus  writes  of  it: 

During  a  recent  visit  to  Lake  Koshkonong,  Wis- 
consin, I  had  opportunity  to  learn  something  of  the  wild 
celery  which  gives  that  lake  such  a  reputation  as  a  resort 
for  the  canvas-back  duck.  In  company  with  Mr.  W.  Y. 
Wentworth,  superintendent  of  the  Blackhawk  Club,  and 
Mr.  Duane  Starin,  perhaps  the  best-known  shooter  of 
that  locality,  I  went  out  on  the  lake,  and  was  shown  how 
the  wild  celery  seeds  are  gathered  from  the  bottom  of  the 
lake — for  that  is  where  they  must  be  gathered,  if  at  all. 
These  gentlemen  probably  have  more  practical  knowl- 
edge of  the  wild  celery  plant  and  its  seed  than  anyone 
else,  for  they  used  to  sell  the  seed  to  parties  wishing  to 
plant  waters  to  wild  celery.  They  experimented  for 
themselves,  and  found  that  the  seed  taken  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  lake  would  grow,  and  they  have  heard  from 


408  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

successful  results  from  different  lots  of  seed  they  have 
shipped  to  clubs,  etc.  It  is  a  simple  matter  to  plant  the 
seed,  the  only  thing  necessary  being  to  drop  the  pods  at 
tile  spot  whe.re  the  celery  is  wished  to  grow.  The  seeds 
should  doubtless  be  kept  wet  all  the  time,  as  that  is  their 
natural  condition.  In  Koshkonong  Lake  the  wild  celery 
grows  out  of  sand,  clay,  mud,  or  almost  any  other  kind 
of  bottom,  and  there  is  no  apparent  reason  why  it 
should  not  grow  in  any  shallow  water  where  it  is  well 
planted. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  water  the  fertilized  seed-pod  lies 
until  moisture  and  decomposition  have  released  the  seeds 
from  their  covering.  At  any  time  before  the  pods  have 
reached  the  bottom  on  their  return  journey,  it  is  prob- 
able they  are  not  fertilized  sufficiently  for  growth.  It  is 
on  the  bottom,  therefore,  that  the  celery  hunters  look  for 
the  seed.  The  only  implement  they  nse  is  a  rake  with  a 
wooden  head  about  sixteen  inches  long,  into  which  are 
set  ten  inch  teeth  of  stiff  wire,  about  three-fourths  of  an 
inch  apart.  Koshkonong  is  a  shallow  lake,  hardly  more 
than  six  or  eight  feet  at  its  deepest,  so  that  the  rake 
need  not  be  very  long  or  ponderous. 

We  rowed  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  pretty  Rock  River, 
crossed  the  head  of  the  lake,  along  where  the  canvas- 
back  blinds  are,  and  in  front  of  the  big  bluff  where 
"Koshkonong  Place"  sits  looking  out  over  the  lake. 
We  fell  to  raking  like  toilers  of  the  sea,  Three  or  four 
ineffectual  hauls  were  made,  bringing  up  moss,  pickerel 
weed,  decayed  stems,  and  a  few  young  croppies  and  bull- 
heads, when  Mr.  Wentworth  called  my  attention  to  a 
long,  dark,  slim-looking  affair,  tapered  at  both  ends  and 
slightly  curved.  It  was  five  or  six  inches  long,  and  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  thick,  and  looked  more  like  a  frozen 
and  disgruntled  angleworm  than  anything  else. 

"  There's  your  celery  seed,"  said  he.  And  in  this  way, 
after  a  half-hour  of  hard  work  in  the  icy  water — this 
was  November  24th — we  got  half  a  dozen  pods  or  so, 
including  a  good  specimen^  and  several  in  which  the 
natural  decomposition  had  gone  so  far  as  to  leave  the 
seeds  exposed  to  view.  We  then  went  home,  and  it 
appeared  to  us  that  the  acquisition  of  wild  celery  seeds 
was  a  very  slow  and  laborious  process. 


TIIK    (ANY  AS-BACK   DUCK.  409 

That  night  we  divided  a  pod  into  one-inch  sections, 
and  counted  the  number  of  seeds  carried  in  a  one-inch 
length  of  the  pod.  We  found  that  the  seeds  ran  about 
sixty  to  the  inch,  and  we  figured  that  from  this  there 
must  be  about  500,000  seeds  in  a  quart  jar  of  the  pods. 
It  is  very  probable  that  there  are  normally  more  than 
sixty  seeds  to  the  inch,  as  the  specimens  we  counted  had 
already  partly  opened,  and  perhaps  some  of  the  seeds 
had  escaped.  The  seeds  are  very  minute,  slender,  and 
pointed.  They  resemble  ant-eggs,  but  are  very  much 
smaller  and  a  little  darker  in  color. 

From  what  we  saw  of  the  seeds,  and  their  great  num- 
bers, it  would  appear  that  the  wild  celery  is  a  plant 
which  could  easily  and  abundantly  be  sown  and  grown 
in  any  shallow  waters.  I  have  heard  of,  and  I  believe  in 
the  mention  of  the  Hennepin  Club  last  winter  I  described, 
an  attempt  to  plant  the  wild  celery  roots.  This  attempt 
was,  I  believe,  unsuccessful.  I  don't  believe  it  is  the 
natural  or  rational  way  to  plant  wild  celery,  and  I  think 
anyone  who  would  tear  up  the  roots  of  this  plant  from  a 
water  where  it  was  native,  would  be  doing  a  very  unwise, 
wasteful,  and  foolish  thing. 

The  delicacy  of  flavor  found  in  the  canvas-back  is 
lacking  in  others  of  the  duck  species,  and  epicures  pride 
themselves  that,  so  infallible  is  their  taste,  in  no  pos- 
sible manner  can  they  be  deceived,  even  going  so  far 
as  claiming  that  the  locality  where  a  bird  has  been  shot 
can  be  told  by  the  flavor  of  the  bird.  This  peculiar  flavor 
is  produced  by  the  wild  celery  they  have  eaten.  Xow, 
this  assertion  is  not  made  in  an  unauthorized  manner,  for 
it  came  within  my  knowledge,  about  a  year  ago,  that 
certain  connoisseurs  claimed  the  canvas-backs  of  the 
Potomac  to  be  superior  to  any  of  the  Western  birds,  and 
two  game  dinners  were  served  in  New  York  City,  to  six 
persons  at  each  cover,  and  they  were  unable  to  decide, 
three  claiming  the  Eastern  birds  much  the  finer  flavored, 
while  the  other  three  could  see  no  difference.  The  gentle- 
men who  forwarded  the  Western  birds  submitted  the  cor- 


410  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

respondence  to  me,  also  the  verdict,  which  was  a  dis- 
agreement, and  the  trial  is  to  be  made  again. 

As  the  Valisneria  spiralis  is  the  same  wherever 
found,  and  imparts  to  and  thoroughly  impregnates  the 
bird  with  its  celery  taste,  there  ought  not  to  be,  and  can 
not  be,  any  difference  in  the  birds  when  they  have  par- 
taken of  these  bulbous  roots  to  the  exclusion  of  other 
food.  When,  through  overflows,  droughts,  or  other 
causes,  the  canvas-backs  are  deprived  of  this  Valisneria 
spiralis  they  feed  on  other  food,  snails  and  fish.  This 
gives  them  a  dry,  leathery  taste,  that  makes  them  almost 
unfit  for  food. 

But  there  is  another  duck,  the  companion  of  the  can- 
vas-back, that  vies  with  it  as  a  table  luxury.  That  bird 
is  the  red-head,  so  similar  to  the  canvas-back  that  thou- 
sands have  been  sold  and  eaten  for  canvas-backs,  and 
where  one  is  acquainted  with  them,  their  habits,  feeding, 
and  resorts,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The  difference 
between  them  is  not  great,  and  one  is  often  mistaken  for 
the  other.  The  canvas-back  is  larger,  plumper,  with 
darker  coloring  on  the  head  and  neck;  but  the  dis- 
tinguishing difference  is  the  bill.  As  in  the  canvas-back, 
the  bill  begins  high  up  on  the  head,  is  jet-black,  and  runs 
in  a  straight  line  to  its  tip,  being  quite  narrow.  In  the  red- 
head, the  bill  is  of  a  bluish  slate,  broader  than  in  the 
canvas-back,  and  slightly  concave.  Gastronomically 
speaking,  let  both  be  shot  after  weeks  of  feasting  in 
beds  of  wild  celery,  and  the  man  who  can  discover  a 
finer  flavor  in  the  canvas-back  has  a  much  more  acute' 
sense  of  taste  than  I. 

Where  these  birds  breed,  while  definitely  known,  is  a 
source  of  astdnishment;  for,  while  they  are  with  us  in  the 
fall,  remaining  in  southern  climes  throughout  the  winter, 
when  the  wintry  months  have  passed,  they  fly  in  tireless 
flight,  traversing  thousands  of  miles  of  settlements  and 


THE   CANVAS-BACK  DUCK.  411 

solitudes,  to  breed  in  Alaska  and  the  extreme  North. 
The  Canada  goose  is  much  the  same  in  taking  such  long 
flights,  and  yet  they  will  often  stop  and  rear  their  young 
in  Dakota  or  Minnesota.  Not  so  with  the  canvas-back, 
for  their  desire  seems  to  be  to  always  seek  the  impene- 
trable wilds  of  the  far  North,  and  only  to  return  when 
the  cold  blasts  warn  them  to  depart  from  their  summer 
homes. 

I  have  been  in  correspondence  with  a  gentleman  in 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,  and  his  description  of  shooting  can- 
vas-backs on  the  Coast  will  open  wide  the  eyes  of  some 
of  the  Eastern  hunters.  It  is  nothing  unusual  for  him  to 
bag  from  sixty  to  eighty  canvas-backs  in  a  day's  hunt  to 
his  gun.  Their  food  in  California  and  Oregon  is  the  same 
as  in  the  East,  and  epicures  there  claim  there  is  no  bird 
on  earth  that  equals  their  bird  when  properly  placed  on 
the  table;  but,  as  I  said  before,  the  food  makes  the  bird, 
and  let  the  canvas-back  be  fattened  on  wild  celery,  and 
it  will  taste  the  same  whether  it  comes  from  Maryland, 
Wisconsin,  Iowa,  or  California. 

There  seems  to  be  a  local  prejudice  about  these  birds 
that  is  highly  amusing.  As  an  illustration,  one  writer 
says:  "In  the  Chesapeake  alone  are  they  perfect;  of 
course  they  are  all  canvas-back  ducks  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  gastronomic  enthusiast.  The  bird  only  reaches 
culinary  superiority  when  it  alights  on  the  Chesapeake 
Bay  and  its  myriad  arms.  Here,  its  flesh  acquires  a 
peculiarly  delicious  and  indescribable  taste,  which  is 
largely  owing  to  its  feeding  on  a  plant  called  wild  celery. 
Water  and  climate  in  the  Chesapeake  must  contain  some 
other  and  unknown  quality  or  condition  which  brings 
the  canvas-back  ducks  to  a  state  of  perfection,  for  I  am 
told  that  California  and  Illinois — I  am  not  certain  about 
Texas  and  North  Carolina — also  supply  wild  celery  as 
food  for  the  canvas-back,  and  yet  it  permits  no  dispute, 


412  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

that  the  fowls  which  come  from  those  States  are  no  more 
akin  to  the  Chesapeake  canvas-back  than  the  rice-bird 
of  the  South  is  equal  to  its  own  self  when,  under  another 
name  and  different  food  conditions,  it  furnishes  an 
incomparable  morsel  as  the  buttery  reed-bird  of  the 
Delaware  marshes.  As  to  the  canvas-ba(cks  which  are 
occasionally  found  along  the  shores  of  Long  Island,  their 
flesh  is  not  distinguishable  from  the  ordinary  duck's, 
because,  in  the  absence  of  the  wild  celery,  they  demean 
themselves  by  feeding  upon  fish." 

I  hope  the  reader  will  not  deem  me  guilty  of  agreeing 
with  such  broad  assertions,  for  I  do  not,  but  simply 
quote  from  him,  that  you  may  see  how  prejudice  will 
affect  a  man;  but  when  we  read  further,  that  "decoys 
are  not  used  because  the  canvas-back,  unlike  his  more 
plebeian  brothers,  will  not  fly  to  them,"  we  feel  our  hearts 
tempered  with  charity,  for  our  experience  has  been  that, 
tempted  by  good  decoys,  properly  placed  and  set  out  by 
an  expert,  one  of  the  easiest  ducks  to  decoy  is  the  can- 
vas-back. When  a  man  says  a  duck  will  not  decoy, 
he  simply  asserts  that  it  will  not  alight  among  its  kind. 
I  have  shot  thousands  of  ducks,  and  have  yet  to  find 
,the  species  that  will  not  decoy  at  the  right  time  and 
place. 

Some  months  ago,  when  in  the  office  of  Robert  Law, 
one  of  the  most  prominent  citizens  of  Chicago,  he  said  to 
me:  "  I  see,  Mr.  Leffmgwell,  you  have  written  a  book  on 
wild  fowl  shooting.  I  wish  I  had  known  you  intended 
doing  so,  for  I  would  liked  to  have  told  you  what  I  know 
about  canvas-back  ducks."  Imagine  my  surprise,  for 
here  was  a  man  talking  duck-shooting  to  me,  who  I  sup- 
posed never  fired  a  gun.  "Why,  Mr.  Law,"  said  I, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  had  experience  with  can- 
vas-back ducks?"  He  invited  me  to  be  seated,  and  this 
is  the  story  he  told  me: 


(413) 


414  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

"When  a  young  man,  my  capital  consisted  of  health 
and  perseverance.  I  found  myself  on  the  shores  of  the 
Chesapeake  Bay,  where  my  mother  bought  a  large  farm. 
The  only  labor  obtainable,  at  that  time,  were  slaves,  that 
I  hired  from  their  masters.  I  boarded  these  negroes,  and 
their  meat-bill  was  a  serious  item,  for  I  had  many 
under  my  control.  What  do  you  suppose  I  fed  them  on? 
Canvas -back  ducks!  Yes,  canvas -back  ducks;  and  at  this 
late  date,  you  can  form  no  idea  of  how  plenty  they  were. 
Why,  I  have  seen  the  sky  darkened  with  them,  the  bay 
like  the  driven  snow,  as  their  white  backs  glistened  in 
the  sun,  and  when  they  arose,  it  seemed  like  one  con- 
tinuous roar  of  thunder.  I  hired  a  man  to  shoot  them 
for  me,  simply  to  keep  our  men  supplied  with  meat.  It 
was  no  trick  to  kill  them,  for  they  abounded  in  countless 
thousands.  All  through  the  winter,  we  lived  on  canvas- 
back  ducks,  served  three  times  a  day,  until  salt  pork 
became  a  delicacy,  and  canvas-back  ducks,  which  now 
command  $6  or  $7  a  pair,  were  set  aside  by  slaves  in  dis- 
gust. Toward  spring,  my  men  threatened  to  quit  me.  I 
could  not  stand  this,  for  no  other  help  could  be  had;  but 
they  threatened  to  leave  me,  and  I  called  in  their  leader, 
and  wanted  to  know  if  I  ever  abused  them.  '  No,  Massa 
Law,'  said  he;  'but  facts  am,  we's  gwine  to  quit  'less 
you  stop  feedin'  us  on  canvas-back,  for  de  Lawd  knows 
dat  a  nigger's  stomach  can't  allus  be  punished  wid  can- 
vas-backs, an'  'less  you  feed  us  on  po'k,  least  twice  a  day, 
we's  gwine  to  go  back  to  de  plantation.'  Of  course  I 
gave  in;  but  I  often  think  of  it  now,  when  canvas-backs 
are  worth  $7  a  pair,  of  how  those  niggers  refused  them, 
and  made  me  supply  them  with  pork.  Another  thing, 
do  you  know  I  believe  that  winter  was  when  decoys  were 
first  discovered?  Tell  you  how  it  was;  we  were  repairing 
a  vessel,  and  ducks  were  flying  thick.  The  day  was  a 
cloudy,  blustery  one,  and  the  birds  flew  near  the  shore. 


THE   CANVAS-BACK   DUCK.  415 

Some  boys  threw  some  whitish-colored  blocks  into  the 
water,  and  the  canvas-backs  kept  darting  to  them.  I 
noticed  an  old  gunner  watching  this  performance,  and 
the  next  day  the  old  fellow  went  out  with  a  gunny-sack 
half -filled  with  blocks,  hewn  to  resemble  ducks.  That 
night  he  returned  with  his  boat  half-full  of  ducks. 
Every  time,  after  that,  he  took  the  same  bag  along,  and 
some  other  hunters  watched  him,  and  found  the  ducks 
were  constantly  sailing  in  to  these  imitations  he  had  out. 
After  this,  they  all  got  to  using  them,  with  added 
improvements;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  those  boys  throw- 
ing blocks  were  the  origin  of  decoys.  Soon  after  this,  I 
began  using  decoys,  also  sink-boxes,  with  the  best  of 
results.  You  can  form  no  idea  how  plenty  canvas-backs 
were  through  the  late  fall  and  winter.  One  winter,  a 
neighbor  of  mine,  who  was  blessed  with  some  ice,  packed 
at  least  1,000.  They  were  so  plenty  that  they  com- 
manded a  very  small  price.  A  shilling  apiece  was  con- 
sidered high,  and  hundreds  were  sold  at  a  sixpence  apiece, 
or  given  away.  The  exceedingly  low  prices  that  could 
be  obtained  for  them  were  no  inducement  for  market- 
shooters,  and  the  ducks  were  not  sought  after  much, 
except  by  local  hunters;  but  soon  after  this,  New  York, 
Philadelphia,  Boston,  and  other  cities  began  to  learn  and 
appreciate  the  delicacy  of  the  canvas-back.  They  brought, 
at  the  bay,  50  cents  a  pair,  and,  even  at  that  price,  a  good 
shot  would  make  from  810  to  820  a  day.  As  the  demand 
increased,  so  the  ingenuity  of  the  hunters  was  taxed  to 
capture  the  birds,  and  they  were  coaxed  near  shore  by 
the  process  known  as  'toling,'  that  is,  by  a  little 
spaniel  trained  to  romp  and  play  along  the  shore,  while 
the  hunters  lay  concealed  in  blinds  within  gun-range; 
but  the  sportsman  delighted  most  to  shoot  them  over 
decoys,  as  they  came  into  the  little  bays  or  pockets  to 
feed  on  the  wild  celery.  They  were  plenty  then,  and  we 


416  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

shot  them  from  blinds,  made  of  cedar  boughs  stuck  into 
the  mud  or  sink -boxes.  They  flew  across  from  place  to 
place,  and  there  were  plenty  of  points  where  we  got  pass- 
shooting,  or  caught  them  sitting  among  our  decoys.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  some  of  those  birds.  When 
they  fell,  and  struck  the  frozen  ground,  the  concussion 
often  split  them  wide  open,  they  were  so  fat  from  feeding 
on  wild  celery. 

"I  notice  many  authorities  state  'that  the  widgeon 
is  a  daring  thief,  and  robs  the  canvas-back  of  its  food, 
after  the  canvas-back  has  dived  and  brought  it  to  the 
surface.'  Now,  when  it  comes  to  stealing  wild  celery 
sprouts,  the  canvas-back  is  the  biggest  thief  on  record.. 
There  used  to  be  another  duck  associating  with  the 
canvas-back.  It  wasn't  the  red -head,  and  I  don't  now 
recall  its  name.  It  was  rather  a  small  duck,  but  a  great 
diver.  It  used  to  dive  down  and  bring  up  the  wild  celery 
bulbs  and  sprouts,  but  it  would  no  sooner  appear  than 
three  or  four  canvas-backs  would  rush  for  it,  and  snatch 
away  the  celery.  I  have  seen  this  done  scores  of  times; 
and,  before  one  of  these  ducks  could  get  a  decent  meal, 
it  would  have  to  supply  celery  for  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
big,  fat,  lazy  canvas-backs.  Am  sorry  I  don't  remember 
the  name  of  this  industrious  duck,  but  we  never  shot 
them.  They  were  small,  with  slim  bodies,  while  their 
bills  were  long  and  powerful;  besides,  they  seemed  to 
enjoy  pulling  up  the  celery,  and  left  plenty  floating 
around,  which  enticed  the  canvas-backs  in. 

"You  never  saw  a  swivel -gun,  did  you  ?  Of  course  you 
didn't,  for  they  were  before  your  day;  but  I  tell  you,  they 
were  murderous  things.  Just  imagine  a  gun  loaded  with 
a  couple. of  pounds  of  shot,  with  powder  enough  to  throw 
it  with  great  penetration.  These  swivel-guns  were  used 
at  night,  by  poachers  and  men  who  didn't  care  how 
many  ducks  they  destroyed  or  crippled.  The  gun  was 


THE   CANVAS-BACK   DUCK.  417 

fastened  on  the  bow  of  the  boat;  then,  on  moonlight 
nights,  or  with  artificial  lights  thrown  on  the  drifting  or 
sleeping  birds,  the  ducks,  naturally  inquisitive,  would 
gently  swim  aside  from  the  boat  that  was  being  slowly 
sculled  among  them,  and,  when  an  immense  body  of 
them  were  together,  the  death-dealing  gun  would 
belch  forth,  killing  anywhere  from  twenty  to  fifty,  while 
the  cripples  dove,  or  sneaked  away,  to  be  gobbled  up  the 
next  day  by  fish-hawks.  Why,  these  guns  were  young 
cannons,  and  I  have  heard  them  roar  over  the  bay  all 
night  long.  At  break  of  day,  one  could  see  these 
immense  hawks  hovering,  circling,  and  darting  after  the 
cripples.  Of  course  the  ducks  would  dive,  but  the  mid- 
dle of  the  bay  afforded  them  no  hiding-place,  and,  at 
last,  the  persevering  hawk  would  tire  them  out.  A 
quick  dart,  and  then  we  would  see  a  whitish  object  hang- 
ing below  the  hawk,  as  it  flew  to  some  tree  to  devour 
the  bird.  The  hawks  were  immense,  and  looked  as  large 
as  eagles.  This  shooting  of  the  ducks  at  night  was  simply 
scandalous,  for  it  was  bound  to  exterminate  them. 
Between  being  hunted  in  the  day-time  and  persecuted 
at  night,  there  was  no  time  or  place  in  which  they  could 
feel  secure  or  obtain  rest.  So  outrageous  did  this  appear, 
that  (I  think  it  was  in  the  winter  of  1845)  the  Legislature 
of  Maryland  passed  a  law  prohibiting  the  use  of  swivel- 
guns  and  shooting  the  birds  after  dark. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  birds  in  some  of 
their  great  flights.  Why,  that  was  forty-five  years  ago! 
Great  Scott,  man!  Here  I  have  been  telling  you  of  scenes 
in  my  early  life  that  I  haven't  thought  of  for  years  and 
years,  and  look  at  the  time  of  day!  Why,  I  promised  to 
have  been  home  an  hour  ago.  You  must  excuse  me, 
for  I  must  go." 

He  buttoned  up  his  great -coat,  and  laying  his  hand 
fondly  on  my  shoulder,  as  he  bade  me  good-night,  there 

27 


418  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

shone  in  his  handsome  face  the  delight  of  happy  days, 
recalled  in  telling  me  some  of  the  scenes  of  his  early  life; 
for,  in  imparting  what  he  had  seen  to  me,  the  pleasant 
years  he  passed  on  the  shores  of  the  Chesapeake  were 
once  again  before  him,  and  I  don't  know  who  was  the 
more  pleased,  he  in  recalling  or  I  in  listening  to  his  fas- 
cinating stories — descriptions  of  days  long  since  passed 
among  the  canvas-backs.  I  could  imagine  I  was  with 
him  in  all  the  sights  he  described,  for  I  have  seen  acres 
and  acres  of  mallards,  blue-bills,  and  other  ducks  float- 
ing in  dark  squares  on  the  bosom  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
have  seen  the  sky,  at  evening-time,  just  as  it  was  crimson 
and  purple  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  filled  and 
flecked  with  thousands  of  mallards,  as  they  flew  hither 
and  thither,  seeking  their  roosting-grounds,  while  the  air 
resounded  with  their  "m'amph,  nvamph,"  and  "quack, 
quack,  quack,"  as  the  birds  dropped  softly  into  the 
marsh. 

In  shooting  canvas-backs  over  decoys,  great  judg- 
ment must  be  displayed  in  placing  out  the  decoys,  select- 
ing the  place  and  building  the  blind,  the  desirer  at  all 
times,  being  to  place  one's  self  as  near  as  possible  to 
the  place  where  they  habitually  feed. 

Cold,  blustery  days  are  the  best,  for  on  such  days 
they  are  less  suspicious.  While  they  are  exceedingly 
wary,  and  are  blessed  with  eyes  of  the  keenest  percep- 
tion, yet  they  are  as  full  of  curiosity  as  a  woman,  and 
while  at  times  they  will  not  come  in  to  the  decoys  with- 
out much  coaxing,  at  others  they  rush  in  with  the 
greatest  recklessness. 

There  is  no  duck  in  which  the  bump  of  inquisitive- 
ness  is  as  fully  developed  as  in  the  canvas-back.  They 
seek  to  know  the  meaning  of  every  uncertain  movement 
or  suspicious  object.  I  have  seen  them  sit  with  their  long 
necks  stretched  up,  staring  with  intense  curiosity  at  a 


TUP:  CAXVAS-BACK  DUCK.  419 

passing  steamboat,  and  then,  flying,  make  an  almost  com- 
plete circuit  around  the  boat,  to  see  if  there  wasn't  some- 
thing they  had  overlooked.  I  have  seen  them  alight  far 
outside  of  decoys,  then,  after  gradually  swimming  nearer, 
at  last  boldly  swim  among  the  decoys,  within  fifty  feet 
of  our  concealed  boat.  It  fills  the  soul  of  the  hunter 
with  delight  to  see  them  dart  down  to  decoys.  Down  they 
come,  aided  by  the  strong  wind,  at  a  100-mile  gait,  flying 
past  the  decoys  as  if  they  did  not  see  them,  just  out  of 
gun-range;  then,  with  a  wide  circle,  return  up- wind  with 
a  speed  almost  as  great,  and  with  set  wing  and  unabated 
speed  slide  into  the  water,  shoving  the  water  ahead  of 
them  in  crested  foam. 

They  are  very  cunning  when  wounded,  great  divers, 
and  cripples  should  at  once  be  shot.  There  is  no  bird  in 
the  world,  that  is  hunted  as  a  game  bird,  that  so  taxes  the 
endurance  of  a  dog,  and  the  dog,  to  retrieve  them,  must 
be  brave  as  a  lion,  entirely  devoid  of  fear,  hardy  enough 
to  withstand  cold,  snow,  and  to  retrieve  among  floating 
ice  as  well  as  in  early  fall.  When  a  man  has  a  dog  like 
this,  he  is  blessed  with  a  jewel  almost  beyond  price. 

I  will  forbear  the  discussion  of  the  breed  of  dogs  to 
use,  the  kind  of  guns  best  adapted,  and  the  charge  to  be 
used,  for  Mr.  John  G.  Smith,  in  his  most  excellent  article 
on  "Inland  Duck-shooting,"  has  given  his  views  on  those 
subjects,  which  fully  accord  with  my  many  years  of 
experience  in  the  pursuit  of  wild  fowl. 

There  is  a  charm  in  duck-shooting  which  defies  the 
pen  of  the  most  gifted  writer  to  explain,  and  only  the 
experienced  can  enjoy;  and  to-day,  as  I  write  this  article, 
seeing  before  me  the  little  group  of  red-heads  that 
appear  in  this  article,  they  recall  to  mind  many  days  in 
departed  years,  when  the  frost  had  gilded  the  meadows, 
and  I  had  sat  reclining  in  my  boat,  watching  red-heads 
basking  in  the  October  sun,  while  starlings  and  black- 


420 


UPLAND   SHOOTING. 


birds,  in  their  suits  of  black,  red,  and  gold,  were  teeter- 
ing on  the  waving  rice-stalks,  as  they  sang  their  merry 
songs,  a  fit  accompaniment  to  music  of  1,000  harps,  that 
the  winds  imitated,  as  they  played  through  the  seared 
and  yellow  rushes  in  the  marsh,  making  the  sweetest 
music  in  the  world  for  the  man  who  loves  the  fields  and 
streams. 


GUNS. 

BY  ARTHTTR  "SV.  DU  BRAY  ("GAUCHO"). 


WILL  endeavor,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  to 
treat  on  the  subject  of  guns  in  as  brief  and 
concise  a  manner  as  possible — brief,  because 
my  tether  is  limited  as  to  space;  concise, 
because  I  will  deal  with  nothing  further 
than  the  practical  part,  leaving  all  theoret- 
ical points  to  other  pens  and  wiser  heads. 

The  shot-gun  of  to-day  is  the  breech- 
loader, fast  tending  to  the  hammerless,  and  gradually 
leaning  toward  the  ejector;  therefore,  descriptions  of 
antiquated  fire-arms,  be  they  ever  so  elaborate,  can  be 
of  little  practical  value  nowadays,  excepting  insomuch  ' 
that  the  younger  sportsman  will  do  well  to  read  of  these 
old-fashioned  guns  and  rifles,  and  then  compare  them  with 
what  he  can  obtain  now,  and  thereafter  thank  his  stars 
that  he  was  not  contemporaneous  with  flint-locks,  which 
went  off  with  a  whiz-bang  that  rendered  wing-shooting 
decidedly  uncertain  to  any  but  a  first-class  marks- 
man. 

I  will  divide  my  subject  into  three  parts,  viz. :  Field- 
guns,  Trap-guns,  and  Duck-guns,  and  endeavor  to 
describe  each  from  a  thoroughly  practical  standpoint, 
and  from  the  education  gained  by  twenty-five  years  of 
experience  over  thousands  of  miles  of  ground — some  in 
Europe,  but  more  particularly  over  the  vast  area  con- 
tained between  the  British  frontier  of  North  America 
and  that  of  Patagonia  in  the  far  South — while  my  range 

(421) 


422  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

of  guns  embraces  Purdey,  Westley  Richards,  Lancaster, 
in  years  gone  by,  latterly,  Scott  and  Parker,  besides 
many  an  odd  gun,  here  and  there,  of  both  English  and 
American  makes.  I  may  furthermore  add  that  I  never 
have  let  the  opportunity  go  by  to  test  a  reputedly  good 
gun,  and  that  I  have  fired  thousands  of  shots  for  pattern 
and  penetration,  with  all  kinds  of  guns  and  about  every 
variety  of  ammunition,  so  that,  if  my  knowledge  is 
meagre  on  these  subjects,  it  is  purely  from  want  of  ability 
to  comprehend,  as  my  opportunities  have  been  legion. 

FIELD-GUNS. 

The  sine  qua  non  of  a  fowling-piece  is  that  it  be  a 
perfect  fit — the  bore,  weight,  length,  and  make  are, 
individually  or  in  the  aggregate,  as  nothing  compared 
to  the  fit — and  in  this  most  essential  feature  no  man  can 
impart  much  more  than  the  most  superficial  information; 
while  nothing  short  of  actual  trial  on  game  will  reveal 
the  hidden  mystery  contained  in  every  gun-stock,  or, 
rather,  peculiar  manner,  position,  style,  or  action  of  the 
man  that  stands  behind  it.  One  man  mounts  a  gun  with 
a  jerk,  aligns  it,  and  shoots;  another  brings  it  up  deliber- 
ately, but  the  moment  the  heel-plate  touches  his  shoulder, 
the  trigger  is  pulled.  Now,  in  the  first  case,  though  not 
an  exact  fit,  yet  moderately  good  shooting  can  be  done, 
because  a  certain  aim  is  taken,  while  in  the  second— by 
'far  the  better  way — no  gun  that  is  a  misfit  will  do  good 
execution,  for  the  simple  reason  that  this  style  of  shooter 
does  not  see  his  gun,  but  is  staring,  both  eyes  wide  open, 
at  his  quarry;  so  that  a  poor  shot,  who  only  shoots  a 
little  now  and  then,  will  generally  go  nearer  his  aver- 
age with  any  borrowed  gun  than  the  good  shot,  who 
never  troubles  himself  about  breech  or  muzzle,  but  rather 
shoots  from  intuition — trusting  entirely  to  his  hands  get- 
ting the  proper  direction,  while  his  head  instantly 


GUXS.  423 

calculates  the  amount  of  leading  required  for  every  shot. 
Beware  of  any  gun  that  is  nearly  a  fit;  for  with  one 
that  is  clearly  a  misfit  one  will  take  more  pains,  and 
be  sure  to,  at  any  rate,  try  to  direct  it,  whereas  the  gun 
that  seemingly  is  pointed  right,  but  in  reality  is  a  little 
high  or  low,  right  or  left — why,  this  kind  of  gun  is  a 
nuisance,  and  lias  made  many  an  otherwise  good  shot 
give  up  wing-shooting  in  despair.  Standing  opposite  a 
mirror,  placed  perpendicularly  in  front  of  the  shooter,  may 
help  him  to  know  where  the  muzzle  and  breech  of  his  gun 
are  the  instant  he  mounts  it ;  so,  also,  will  this  be  discovered 
by  standing  in  a  dark  room,  and  sighting  quickly  at  a 
light,  when  wheeling  about,  in  some  other  room  or  hall- 
way as  far  distant  as  possible.  These  are  make-shifts, 
and  may  teach  the  rudiments,  as  it  were;  but  actual  cer- 
tainty can  only  be  reached  by  frequent  trials  at  moving 
objects — birds  flying  in  all  directions,  inanimate  targets 
going  high  or  low,  swift  or  slow,  and  particularly  all 
shots  going  fast  and  low  to  the  right  (these,  to  the 
right-handed  man,  are  hardest  of  all). 

A  gun  should  never  be  bought,  out  and  out,  in  a  gun- 
store  without  the  privilege  of  trying  it  on  game  or  at  the 
trap;  for,  be  it  ever  so  good  a  shooter  according  to  its 
tag,  or  even  its  tested  performance  before  the  intending 
purchaser,  yet  there  is  always  a  much  more  important 
point  to  decide,  and  one  that  can  only  be  settled  by  a 
real  test,  so  that,  to  save  much  trouble  and  annoyance, 
the  gun  should  be  taken  to  some  shooting-ground,  loaded 
with  smokeless  powder,  and  then  tried  at  all  angles  and 
elevations  obtainable;  then,  if  found  to  come*  to  place 
without  any  adjustment  after  touching  the  shoulder, 
that  gun  is  a  fit. 

I  lay  particular  stress  on  iising  smokeless  powder — 
preferably  Schultze — as  when  this  kind,  in  light  loads,  is 
used,  the  shooter  can  tell  at  once  just  where  his  gun  is 


424  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

pointing,  even  in  the  act  of  discharge;  while,  what  with 
the  noise,  smoke,  and  recoil  incident  to  the  explosion  of 
black  powder,  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  locate  both  gun 
and  object  aimed  at — in  fact  it  can't  be  done  by  any  but  a 
person  of  great  experience,  and  to  all  such  I  can  give  no 
pointers,  while  I  merely  write  this  article  for  the  guid- 
ance and  help  of  beginners.  Don't  be  guided  in  the  way 
of  how  to  handle  the  gun  by  the  one  who  is  trying  to  sell 
it;  for,  aside  from  any  pecuniary  motives,  it  is  always 
best  to  put  up  a  gun  in  the  most  natural  way,  and,  as 
nature  needs  but  little  instruction,  the  easiest  and  quick- 
est manner  will  generally  prove  the  best. 

The  bore  of  the  gun  is,  fortunately,  a  point  on  which 
there  can  not  be  so  much  difference  of  opinion;  for, 
although  some  isolated  cases  are  found  where  men  stren- 
uously uphold  that  a  twenty -gauge  gun  is  equal  as  a 
game-killer  to  a  ten,  yet,  fortunately,  these  are  rare;  and  as 
the  penetration  and  pattern  of  any  two  guns  can  be  readily 
ascertained,  the  merits  of  all  bores  can  easily  be  discov- 
ered. For  all  field-shooting  a  twelve-gauge  gun  should 
be  large  enough,  while  such  a  one,  if  of  sufficient  weight 
to  withstand  heavy  charges  with  comfort  to  the  shooter, 
is  also  a  very  serviceable  weapon  on  wild  fowl.  Such 
game  as  prairie  chickens,  quail,  snipe,  woodcock,  all  of 
which  are  usually  killed  inside  of  thirty-five  yards, 
excepting  the  first  mentioned  where  cover  is  short,  or  late 
in  the  season,  can  readily  be  killed  with  twelve  or  six- 
teen gauge  guns,  and  as  every  ounce  in  weight  operates 
against  the  sportsman  in  a  hard  day's  tramp,  a  field-gun 
should  not  weigh  over  7£  to  eight  pounds,  while  if  a  gen- 
eral utility  gun  is  needed,  a  twelve  of  &|  to  nine  pounds 
will  prove  a  very  handy  weapon;  yet  it  will  not  be 
the  equal  of  a  nine-pound,  ten -gauge,  neither  will  it 
handle  as  easily  or  freely  as  one  of  small  bore  and  less 
weight. 


GUXS.  425 

The  penchant  for  feather-weight  guns  is,  unfortu- 
nately, leading  many  otherwise  level-headed  men  to  such 
extremes,  that  many  English  sportsmen  are  to-day  using 
twelve-gauge  guns  of  less  than  six  pounds  in  weight. 
Such  guns,  to  be  reasonably  safe,  must  be  of  very  best 
material;  and,  as  no  man  can  with  comfort  shoot  many 
shots  with  the  full  charge  of  a  twelve-gauge  gun  in  such 
extremely  light  tubes,  the  load  is  usually  cut  down  in 
powder  and  lead  to  about  what  would  be  the  equiva- 
lent of  a  sixteen-gauge  charge.  While  a  gun  of  this  bore 
would  answer  every  purpose,  and  be  much  more  sym- 
metrical than  a  wider  one,  on  such  a  light  frame  and 
aerial  stock — cliacun  d  son  gout — and  while  men  with 
perfect  vision  will  encumber  themselves  with  eye  glasses 
in  the  endeavor  to  adorn  their  physiognomies,  it  is 
quite  to  be  expected  that  others  will  claim  that  their 
pet  little  twelve-bores  are  the  equals  of  any.  Actual 
tests  prove  to  the  contrary;  but,  none  being  so  deaf  as 
those  who  won't  hear,  it  is  useless  to  reason  against 
reason.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  a  twelve-gauge  gun, 
with  thirty-inch  barrels,  and  weighing  about  7%  pounds, 
is  about  right  as  a  field-gun,  and  if  properly  bored 
Avill  answer  every  purpose. 

When  choke -boring  first  came  out,  the  man  who  had 
nothing  better  than  a  cylinder  was  unhappy  in  the 
extreme;  for  the  man  with  the  choke-bore  was  relentless, 
cruel,  and  so  selfish  that  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  display- 
ing the  marvelous  performance  of  his  improved  weapon 
by  sieving  paper  targets  at  long  range,  and  making, 
by  contrast  with  his,  the  unfortunate  owner  of  the 
cylinder  go  fairly  crazy  with  chagrin  and  mortification  in 
seeing  his  expensive  old  pet  completely  distanced  by  a 
common,  though  closer-shooting,  rival.  The  superiority  of 
the  choke-bore  was  simply  squelching;  it  threw  its  charge, 
particularly  when  loaded  with  small  shot,  so  much 


426  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

more  compactly,  and  with  fully  as  much  or  more  penetra- 
tion, that  the  poor  old  gun  was  discarded,  and  the  full- 
choked  one  took  its  place. 

There  were  some  men,  though,  who,  content  to  let  well 
enough  alone,  stuck  to  their  colors,  or,  if  they  did  modify 
their  views,  so  did  they  modify  their  chokes;  and  expe- 
rience has  clearly  proved  that  this  class  went  in  the  right 
direction,  for  it  is  much  easier  nowadays  to  get  too  close 
a  shooting  gun  than  one  that  is  too  open.  A  field-gun 
that  makes  the  greatest  killing-circle  in  one  barrel  at 
thirty  to  thirty -five  yards,  and  ten  yards  farther  with  the 
other,  is  just  as  much  superior  to  an  excruciatingly  close 
shooter  as  the  choke  is  to  the  cylinder,  for  all  distances 
over  forty-five  yards,  while  for  all  shooting  in  cover, 
even  a  wider  spread  is  an  advantage.  In  the  hands  of 
an  expert,  perhaps  as  many  quail  flying  through  thickets, 
or  ruffed  grouse  darting  between  leaves  and  branches, 
all  the  while  with  a  rising  out  or  in  curve,  may  be  killed 
with  a  very  close  as  with  an  open  bored  gun,  but  I  doubt 
it;  for  all  such  shots  are  snapped  at,  and  it  stands  to 
reason  that  the  gun  that  gives  one  thirty  inches  of  spread 
is  much  more  certain  to  be  a  killer  than  the  one  that  cuts 
that  circle  down  to  only  twenty  or  twenty-four  inches, 
so  that,  as  such  shots  are  the  rule  rather  than  the  excep- 
tion, the  evenness  and  extent  of  the  killing-circle  of  a  gun 
should  form  its  standard  of  merit,  rather  than  its  closeness 
and  compactness  of  delivery.  In  proof  of  this,  I  may 
mention  that  the  very  best  field-shots  avoid  with  artistic 
cleverness  the  use  of  full  chokes  when  afield,  and  reserve 
them  for  places  where  increased  distances  make  them 
most  effective. 

But,  again,  to  reduce  the  number  of  pellets  in  a  given 
circle,  at  any  distance,  does  not  necessarily  turn  out  the 
best-shooting  gun;  for  there  are  many  guns  that,  although 
they  put  more  shot  in  such  a  circle  than  another,  yet 


GUNS.  427 

they  are  better  game-killers,  and  that  is  because  these 
shoot  more  regularly,  and  make  evener,  more  sieve-like 
spreads.  For  instance,  a  gun  may  place  with  one  barrel  350 
No.  8  shot  in  a  thirty-inch  ring,  at  forty  yards,  and  only 
300  with  the  other.  It  does  not  follow  that  the  300  barrel 
is  the  better  one,  for  it  may  leave  great  gaps,  and  put  shot 
on  in  bunches,  while  the  350  barrel  will  give  quite  as 
large  a  spread  and  a  much  more  killing  one  all  over. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  tags  which  accompany  a  gun,  though 
of  great  value  in  establishing  its  shooting  qualities,  yet 
do  not  reveal  the  spread  and  manner  in  which  the  gun 
delivers  its  load;  so  here  again  comes  in  the  importance 
of  fully  testing  a  gun  before  purchasing  it.  Furthermore, 
so  long  as  all  guns  are  not  tagged  from  the  same  basis,  i.  e., 
at  the  same  range  and  same  sized  circle,  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  to  draw  any  but  the  vaguest  conclusions  as  to 
their  relative  merits. 

English  guns  are  targeted  at  forty  yards  at  a  thirty- 
inch  circle,  and  all  first-class  ones  with  Curtis  &  Harvey's 
powder  if  black,  Schultze  or  E.  C.  if  smokeless,  and 
nearly  altogether  with  chilled  shot,  No.  6  of  a  certain 
make,  generally  Newcastle,  that  runs  with  great  evenness, 
so  that  here  we  can  at  a  glance  see  how  two  or  more  guns 
compare — provided  their  tags  represent  the  actual  work 
done  by  the  gun. 

With  us  it  is  different.  Some  of  our  makers  use  one 
kind  of  powder  and  shot,  while  another,  living  in  another 
State,  loads  with  entirely  different  ammunition,  and  nearly 
all  of  them  lean  toward  coarse,  slow  powder,  totally  unlike 
that  usually  used  by  sportsmen  or  men  who  shoot  much  at 
the  trap;  hence  it  is  that  tags,  while  serving  as  a  capital 
guide  as  between  guns  of  one  make  or  factory,  are  yet, 
when  fastened  to  the  trigger-guards  of  half  a  dozen 
different  makes  of  guns,  of  very  little  value  in  establishing 
accurate  comparisons  between  them. 


428  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

No  respectable  gun-maker  can  possibly  object  to  his 
gun  being  tried  in  the  open,  and  by  the  would-be  pur- 
chaser, for  such  men  are  bent  upon  pleasing  their  cus- 
tomers, knowing  full  well  that  one  good  gun  sells  others, 
and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

TKAP-GUNS. 

Trap-guns  may  be  said  to  be  of  two  kinds  only,  viz.,  the 
ten-bore,  at  any  weight,  and  the  twelve-bore,  under  eight 
pounds;  and  just  so  long  as  guns  of  smaller  gauge  are 
not  allowed  the  handicap  in  rise  allowed  a  twelve  over  a 
ten.  the  smaller  bores  can  never  come  into  general  compe- 
tition with  the  wider  ones.  It  seems  absurd  to  give  an 
advance  of  two  yards  to  a  twelve  over  a  ten,  when  the 
sixteen-gauge,  which  is  four  sizes  smaller  than  the  twelve, 
has  to  toe  the  same  scratch;  nor  is  there  the  least  bit  of 
justice  in  this,  for  it  is  well  known  that  an  eight-pound 
twelve-gauge  will  outshoot  any  sixteen-gauge,  at  their 
ordinary  weight,  and  both  charged  to  their  utmost  limit. 

There  are  many  places  where  guns  go  in  according  to 
their  gauge;  but  until  this  obviously  just  ruling  prevails 
everywhere,  the  narrow  bores  will  be  merely  dotted  here 
and  there,  and  never  be  recognized  as  of  full  force  in  an 
open  competition. 

One  of  the  most  arbitrary  rules  governing  any  kind  of 
sport,  is  that  which  limits  the  weight  of  the  twelve-bore 
to  eight  pounds;  and  it  is  a  mark  of  the  advance  of  liber- 
alism to  learn  that  Huiiingham  has  outgrown  the  tyran- 
nical prejudice  that  brought  trap-guns  under  the  scale  at 
that  weight.  For  instance,  why  should  a  strong,  able- 
bodied  man  be  pulled  down  to  an  eight-pound  gun  when 
he  can  do  better  shooting  with  one  that  weighs  more? 
Again,  the  limit  of  powder  being  liberal,  why  make  the 
gun  come  under  a  weight  that  will  preclude  using  the 
full  charge  permissible  under  the  rules  ?  No  man  can 


GUNS.  429 

shoot,  with  comfort,  four  drams  of  Curtis  &  Harvey's 
fine-grained  powder  and  one  and  a  quarter  ounces  of 
shot  in  a  twelve-bore  under  eight  pounds  in  weight, 
while  in  a  nine-pound  gun  this  load  goes  off  smoothly 
and  pleasantly;  then,  if  the  object  is  to  equalize  the 
weak,  light  man  with  the  strong,  heavy  one,  it  is  apparent 
that  the  limit  of  charge  must  be  cut  down,  as  no  slight, 
delicate  man  can  ever  hope  to  stand  behind  a  kicking 
gun,  which  jars  him  from  head  to  foot,  as  well  as  his 
heavier  and  stronger  opponent,  whose  weight  and  grip 
hold  the  gun  much  more  in  check. 

There  can  be  no  objection  to  a  limit  of  charge  as  well 
as  one  of  gauge,  but  in  the  matter  of  weight  there  should 
certainly  be  no  restriction;  for  if  the  man  uses  a  heavy 
gun  because  he  prefers  to,  the  one  shooting  a  lighter  one 
has  the  advantage  of  more  rapid  manipulation,  and  so  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  choice,  and  not  one  of  compulsion, 
as  it  now  stands. 

I  have  made  this  digression,  and  will  now  resume; 
nor  could  I  write  on  this  subject  without  ventilating  my 
views  on  what  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  gross 
injustice,  and  a  most  one-sided  rule,  made  to  fit  one  man 
exactly,  and  just  so  surely  break  another. 

The  matter  of  fashion  plays  a  more  important  part  on 
the  kind  of  piece  used  for  trap-shooting  than  many 
would  imagine,  and  so  long  as  London  leads  in  this,  we 
may  expect  to  dance  to  the  tune  of  the  British  fiddle. 
Twelve-bores  being  in  vogue  in  Europe,  ga  va  sans  dire 
that  we  must  also  go  in  for  them,  not  because  they  are 
better  than  our  old  tens,  that  have  done  us  such  good 
service,  but  because  most  of  us  have  ten-bores,  and  now, 
since  they  won't  wear  out,  we  must  keep  the  gun-makers 
at  their  trade,  and  delve  in  our  pocket-books  for  the 
wherewith  to  buy  the  gun  a  la  mode. 

Many,  whose  observation  has  been  drawn  to  one  side 


430  UPLAND    SIIOOTIXG. 

of  the  argument  only,  are  tinder  the  impression  that  it  is 
more  sportsmanlike  to  kill  a  pigeon  with  a  twelve  than 
with  a  ten  bore  gun;  they  think  it  requires  finer  holding 
and  better  marksmanship,  while  as  a  matter  of  fact,  both 
guns  being  equally  choked,  the  ten-gauge  will  put  its 
load  more  compactly,  at  the  distance  within  which  pigeons 
are  shot,  than  the  much-lauded  twelve.  The  ten-gauge 
has  one  advantage,  it  shoots  harder,  for  it  stands  to 
reason  that  four  and  a  half  drams  of  powder  will  drive 
one  and  a  quarter  ounces  of  shot  harder  than  three  and  a 
half;  but  this  very  reason  ought  to  carry  the  ten-bore  in  a 
winner,  for  certainly  it  is  more  humane  to  shoot  a  bird 
with  the  more  powerful  shooting  weapon,  in  other  words, 
the  better  killer,  than  with  the  weaker  one,  and,  as  both 
can  be  made  to  shoot  about  alike  as  regards  pattern, 
with  the  advantage  in  favor  of  the  larger  bore,  there  can 
be  no  good  reason  advanced  why  the  ten  should  go  to  the 
Avail  to  make  way  for  the  twelve,  unless  it  be  the  same 
grounds  that  consign  my  lady's  last  bonnet  to  the  depths 
of  her  darkest  closet — to  presently  appear  in  the  latest 
fad  from  Paris.  With  men,  in  guns,  substitute  London 
for  Paris,  and,  presto !  we  have  the  solution  to  the 
problem. 

The  trap-gun,  pure  and  simple,  should  possess  two 
qualities,  viz. ,  be  a  perfect  fit  and  an  even,  regular,  hard 
shooter;  these  are  imperative.  Other  essentials,  that  so 
largely  go  to  make  up  a  first-class  field  or  duck  gun,  are 
not  of  such  vital  necessity  here.  For  example,  we  see  in 
every  club  guns  that  are  so  constructed  that  water  could 
be  poured  into  the  breech  and  lock  mechanism,  by 
simply  pushing  the  top  lever  back  and  withdrawing  the 
extension  rib  from  its  bed.  Dust,  sand,  salt  air.  rain,  in 
fact  anything  within  a  reasonable  limit  as  to  size,  could 
be  dropped  into  this  catch-all;  and  yet,  in  trap-shooting, 
such  a  chasm,  opening  wide  to  receive  whatever  may 


GUXS.  431 

fall  into  it,  is  not  a  positive  detriment,  for  one  seldom 
shoots  in  bad  weather,  so  that  the  "glass  case"  gun, 
which  at  once  proclaims  its  own  unfitness  to  the  practiced 
eye  of  a  thorough  sportsman,  stands  on  a  level  here  with 
guns  of  so  much  greater  instrinsic  worth  that  comparison 
between  them  would  be  utterly  ruinous. 

Then,  again,  trap-shooting  is  generally  done  in  the 
vicinity  of  towns  or  villages,  so  that  a  complete  break- 
down merely  bars  the  owner  from  the  day's  sport,  while 
should  such  a  catastrophe  happen  far  away  from  the 
ever- ready  gun-smith,  then  the  journey  of  many  miles, 
taken  in  perhaps  the  one  annual  vacation,  assumes  dif- 
ferent proportions  in  toto.  So  long,  then,  as  the  very  best 
fitting  and  shooting  guns  can  be  obtained  that  are  not 
open  to  these  most  serious  objections,  it  seems  strange 
that  so  many  guns  possessed  of  such  glaring  defects 
should  sell  side  by  side  with  others  of  perfect  construc- 
tion; yet  ,such  is  the  irresistible  power  of  printers1  ink, 
that  we  may  always  expect  to  see  catch-penny  schemes, 
well  advertised,  push  their  way  alongside  of  true  and 
honest  workmanship,  that,  costing,  as  it  invariably  does, 
more  money  to  execute,  leaves  less  profit  to  the  maker 
with  which  to  puff  his  own  wares. 

A  perfect  trap-gun,  regardless  of  its  bore,  weight,  or 
dimensions,  should  be  so  bored  and  regulated  in  its 
shooting  that  it  will  give  the  greatest  killing  spread  at 
the  distance  for  which  it  is  intended  to  fire  it.  There- 
fore, if  a  marksman  shoots  at  thirty-five  yards,  his  gun, 
if  bored  and  loaded  to  best  advantage,  should  give  him 
all  the  chances  compatible  with  a  regular  and  even  spread 
of  shot  at  that  distance,  for  it  is  clearly  handicapping  him- 
self to  use  a  gun  that  so  compactly  delivers  its  load  at 
that  distance  that  nothing  but  dead  center  shots  will 
score  as  hits.  A  gun  so  bored  that  it  will  keep  the  load 
together,  and  kill  at  extreme  ranges,  is  indeed  a  truly 


432  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

valuable  weapon  for  some  kinds  of  shooting;  but  to 
score  with  such  a  one  at  half  its  killing  and  striking 
limit  of  range,  necessitates  masterly  skill  in  handling 
it.  Nor  can  such  a  gun,  in  the  hands  of  equal  shots,  be 
expected  to  win  when  shot  against  one  that  favors  the 
shooter  by  allowing  him  an  extra  spread  of  perhaps  a 
whole  foot,  at  the  ordinary  range  at  which  trap-guns  are 
used. 

In  all  artificial  bird-shooting,  it  is  well  to  use  a  mod- 
erately close-shooting  gun;  yet  far  better  is  it  to  accustom 
oneself  to  a  little  quicker  shooting  than  to  drill  on 
swift-moving  birds,  and  trust  to  the  gun  at  the  other 
end.  On  still,  calm  days,  with  perfect  trapping  and  even 
nights,  a  good  shot  can  account  for  a  high  percentage  of 
his  targets  at  long  range,  provided  his  gun  is  loaded 
and  bored  as  a  "readier;"  but  the  instant  the  wind 
comes  up,  or  the  traps  throw  irregularly,  then  the  whole 
onus  falls  on  the  one  at  the  helm,  and  then  it  is  that 
quick  shooting  comes  into  play.  Some  men  can't  shoot 
quickly — it  isn't  in  them.  Such  men  hardly  ever  make 
successful  trap-shots,  and  most  rarely,  if  ever,  first-class 
marksmen  at  flying  targets.  There  are  too  many  chances 
against  them  when  they  measure  their  skill,  long  drawn 
out,  against  the  greater  certainty  of  the  one  who  thinks 
fast,  moves  with  more  celerity,  and  therefore  has  less 
allowance  and  brain-w^ork  generally  to  break  his  com- 
bination. There  is  a  happy  medium  between  snapping 
at  birds  and  poking  after  them,  while  the  odds,  in  these 
two  styles,  are  usually  in  favor  of  the  quicker  shot. 
When  shooting  at  long  distances,  such,  for  instance,  as 
at  ducks  on  a  flight,  then  the  most  trifling  error  at  the 
shoulder  carries  the  load  wide  of  the  mark  upon  reach- 
ing the  distance  at  which  the  bird  is  flying,  and  invari- 
ably causes  a  miss;  but  when  inside  of  forty  yards,  it  is 
not  compulsory  to  be  so  dead  center,  though,  of  course, 


GUNS.  433 

such  precautions  are  always  in  the  right  direction,  pro- 
vided it  does  not  take  too  much  time  to  make  them. 
Shooting,  for  instance,  at  a  straight  taller  from  the 
center  trap,  when  good  strong  live  birds  are  the  targets, 
one  had  better  pull  up  and  shoot  instanter,  even  if  not 
"dead  on,"  than  poke  about  to  get  there;  for  on  such 
shots  the  vital  spot  is  mighty  small,  and  distance  is  rapidly 
increasing,  both  toward  the  boundary  and  away  from  the 
score,  while,  if  the  second  barrel  is  to  be  of  any  avail,  it 
must  certainly  soon  be  let  drive  at  the  now  fast-retreating 
pigeon.  At  thirty-three  yards,  say,  a  properly  bored 
pigeon-gun  will  give  a  killing  spread  of  twenty-four  to 
thirty  inches,  according  to  the  load,  etc.;  so  that  six 
inches  to  one  side  or  the  other,  on  a  straight-away  shot, 
does  not  signify,  for  still  the  bird  will  come  handsomely 
inside  of  the  killing-circle. 

On  side  and  quartering  shots  one  can  afford  to  be  more 
deliberate;  in  fact,  here  errors  must  not  accumulate  into 
many  inches,  for  it  does  not  take  a  fast -fly  ing  bird  long 
to  move  across  and  beyond  the  width  of  the  whole  charge. 
Smokeless  powder,  however,  is  of  such  decided  advan- 
tage, where  both  barrels  may  be  used,  that  nowadays 
scores  are  being  made  that  before  its  advent  would  have 
been  quite  impossible  to  attain. 

DUCK-GUNS. 

In  this  country,  the  gun  most  universally  used  for 
wild  fowl  shooting  is  the  heavy  ten-gauge,  while  in  Eng- 
land the  eight-bore  is  the  favorite.  As  regards  shooting, 
pure  and  simple,  a  ten  can1 1  compete  with  an  eight  any 
more  than  a  twelve  can  with  a  ten-bore;  but  in  order  to 
be  a  serviceable  gun,  if  an  eight-gauge,  it  must  be  of 
considerable  weight,  and  that  is  a  bar  against  its  use, 
excepting  Avhere  the  shooter  is  at  a  stand-still — be  it  in  a 
blind,  boat,  or  on  a  pass;  add  to  which,  he  must  be  of 

28 


434  UPLA:STD  SHOOTING. 

powerful  build  to  shoot  for  any  length  of  time  with  a 
very  heavy  gun. 

One  thing  must  be  borne  in  mind,  else  experience 
may  be  dearly  bought  at  the  most  inconvenient  and 
critical  moment.  A  man  accustomed  to  shooting  a  ten- 
pound,  ten-gauge  gun  at  the  trap  and  in  the  field  will  find 
himself  completely  at  sea  when  using  a  twelve  pound 
eight-gauge,  and  as  most  guns  of  that  caliber  go  over 
that  weight,  why,  it  is  as  well  to  get  the  swing  of  such  a 
monster  well  in  hand  before  attempting  to  pull  down 
swift-flying  birds  with  it;  and  as  all  wild  fowl  are  of  the 
most  rapid  flight,  it  is  apparent  that  nothing  but  perfect 
control  of  the  weapon  will  insure  success  when  shooting 
at  this  kind  of  game. 

Experience  has  taught  me  this,  that  while  I  can 
manage  an  11^-pound  ten-bore  of  thirty-one-inch  barrels, 
when  I  attempt  to  wield  a  13^-pound  eight-gauge  with 
thirty-four-inch  barrels,  I  simply  get  behind  all  fast-fly- 
ing cross-shots,  from  the  very  fact  that  I  can't  swing  the 
heavier  gun,  through  being  unaccustomed  to  handle  so 
much  weight  of  metal  away  off  from  the  left  hand,  so 
that,  although  my  eight-bore  with  its  full  charge  is  unques- 
tionably a  better  and  much  more  powerful  shooter  than 
any  ten-bore,  yet  I  certainly  bag  much  more  game  with 
the  ten;  and  so  it  will  be  with  most  men  unless  they 
become  thoroughly  accustomed  to  holding  and  moving, 
with  rapidity  and  precision,  very  heavy  and  long-barreled 
guns.  A  light  eight-bore  is  a  most  undesirable  and 
unwise  venture;  for,  if  loaded  with  full  charge,  it  must  be 
anJnordinate  kicker,  while  if  only  half  charge,  it  will  do 
no  better  execution •  than  a  ten-bore,  and  always  will 
remain  a  much  more  un wieldly  weapon.  Inside  of  twelve 
pounds,  therefore,  for  a  double  gun,  better  get  a  ten- 
gauge,  while  a  full- weighted  eight  will  go  from  thirteen  to 
fifteen  pounds.  Such  a  gun  will  shoot,  with  comfort  to 


GUNS.  435 

the  man  behind  it,  seven  drams  of  good  powder  and  two 
ounces  of  large  shot.  AVhen  thus  loaded,  it  is  quite  clear 
that  a  ten-bore  with  five  drams  and  its  1 J  ounces  is  simply 
nowhere  in  comparison. 

A  thoroughly  serviceable  wild  fowl  gun  should  be  as 
heavy  as  the  owner  can  handle  with  comfort  and  accuracy. 
If  it  must  weigh  between  eight  and  nine  pounds,  let  it  be 
a  twelve-bore;  if  between  9£  and  lOf ,  then,  by  all  means, 
a  ten,  while  the  barrels  need  not  be  over  thirty  inches  in 
length,  unless  very  coarse,  slow-burning  powder  is  used, 
then  it  may  go  to  thirty-two. 

All  duck-guns  should  be  bored  specially  with  a  view 
to  shooting  heavy  charges  of  powder  without  undue 
recoil,  and  be  so  regulated  that  they  will  throw,  with 
compactness  and  regularity,  large  shot,  as  No.  6  is  the 
minimum  size  used  at  ducks.  A  properly  bored  gun  will 
put  over  80  per  cent,  of  its  charge  of  No.  4  shot  in  a 
thirty-inch  circle  at  forty  yards,  while  a  really  first- 
class  one  will  put  fifty  pellets  of  that  size  of  shot  on  a 
square  foot  at  that  distance.  In  no  branch  of  shooting 
is  the  advantage  of  choke-boring  of  so  much  benefit  as  in 
turning  out  duck-guns,  for  here,  range  and  penetration, 
with  closeness  of  delivery,  are  all-important. 

Next  to  the  shooting  qualities  of  guns  intended  to  be 
carried  in  all  weather,  liable  at  any  time  to  be  drenched 
from  breech  to  muzzle,  exposed  to  damp  and  rough  usage 
generally,  comes  the  gun  which,  if  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, is  nearest  to  being  water-proof,  or,  rather,  the  kind 
and  make  of  gun  that  will  stand  the  most  exposure  and 
remain  internally  dry. 

A  perfect  duck-gun  would  be  one  that  could  be 
plunged  into  water  in  all  its  length,  then  -withdrawn, 
wiped  oif  with  a  rag,  and  pronounced  out  of  danger  of 
rust.  There  being  no  such  gun  so  long  as  triggers  are 
used,  the  next  approach  to  perfection  is  the  kind  that 


436  UPLAXD   SHOOTING. 

will  admit  of  no  water  excepting  through,  the  trigger- 
plate.  It  stands  to  reason  that  any  style  of  action  that  will 
allow  water  to  penetrate  into  it,  or  the  lock,  from  above, 
is  a  faulty  one  for  duck-guns;  and  while  such  systems  may 
do  very  well  for  trap-shooting,  where  a  gun  is  seldom 
exposed  to  the  rain  or  snow,  yet  it  should  be  eschewed 
when  selecting  a  gun  for  rough  service  in  the  field. 

It  is  not  the  writer's  object  to  particularize  nor  to 
stigmatize  certain  makes  of  guns  in  this  chapter,  but  it 
is  clear  that  any  gun  which,  when  open  or  closed,  pre- 
sents a  gap,  in  which  water  or  salt  air  may  easily  find  its 
way  into  its  working-parts  or  mechanism,  is  decidedly 
a  defective  style  of  gun  for  the  wild-fowler;  for,  even 
with  the  staunchest  one,  water  will  eventually  get  into 
the  joints,  and  rust  them,  unless  far  more  than  the  usual 
amount  of  care  and  elbow-grease  (besides  other  grease)  be 
plentifully  and  constantly  bestowed  on  them.  I  will, 
therefore,  merely  warn  the  novice  to  look  to  this,  and 
thereby  save  himself  many  an  hour's  hard  work,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  possibility  of  premature  break-downs, 
caused  from  rusty  surfaces  bearing  against  each  other, 
and  therefore  increasing  the  strain  and  wear  and  tear  of 
any  piece  of  machinery. 

A  man  who  habitually  uses  a  field  or  trap  gun  under 
eight  pounds  in  weight  and  with  a  crook  of  say  two  inches 
at  comb  and  three  at  butt,  had  better  choose  a  rather 
straighter  stock  when  in  quest  of  a  ten  or  eleven  pound 
gun,  especially  if  long  in  the  barrels.  A  gun  of  seven 
and  a  half  pounds  in  weight  and  thirty-inch  barrels,  that 
mounts  perfectly  with  a  certain  crook,  would  be  no  crite- 
rion upon  which  to  order  a  10^-pound,  thirty-two-inch 
barrel  one.  The  light  gun  would  naturally  come  up  more 
easily  and  with  less  exertion  than  the  heavier  one,  so 
that  allowance  must  be  made  accordingly,  and  nothing 
but  experience  will  teach  just  how  great  or  little  the 


437 

difference  should  be.  Then,  again,  a  crooked  stock  is 
apt  to  cause  a  gun  to  drop  at  the  muzzle,  which  is  a  fatal 
error  where  long  shots  are  in  vogue,  as  the  tendency 
will  be  for  it  to  drop  at  extreme  ranges,  while  a  muzzle 
that  holds  well  up  will,  in  a  measure,  rectify  this  depres- 
sion by  giving  the  charge  a  higher  trajectory. 

In  the  matter  of  length  of  stock,  duck-guns  are  best 
made  with  rather  shorter  ones  than  those  intended  for 
shooting  in  warm  weather,  when  less  and  thinner  clothing 
is  worn;  for  nothing  is  more  aggravating  than  to  be  con- 
tinually balked  by  having  the  heel  chuck  up  against  the 
hunting-coat,  and  stay  there  fast  as  wax,  just  because  an 
extra  flannel  shirt  may  have  been  indispensable  on  a  very 
cold  morning. 

Rubber  pads  and  all  such  contrivances  are  useful 
enough  in  their  way,  in  that  they  check  the  recoil  so  far 
as  the  shoulder  is  concerned;  but  nothing  will  make  a 
kicking  gun  pleasant  to  shoot,  and  nothing  but  weight 
and  proper  boring  (with  rational  loading)  will  take  up  the 
recoil;  for  although  these  appliances  may  deaden  the 
severity  of  the  blow,  yet  the  whole  system  receives  the 
shock,  which,  when  often  repeated,  jars  the  shooter  to 
such  an  extent  that  all  pleasure  is  lost,  fine  shooting 
impossible,  voluntary  flinching  inevitable,  headache  most 
probable — then  good-bye  spor£ 

My  observation,  covering,  as  it  does,  a  good  deal  of 
ground  and  a  great  many  men,  inclines  me  to  the  opinion 
that  a  ten  to  ten  and  a  half  pound,  thirty-inch  barrel  gun, 
of  ten  bore,  is  about  the  very  best  gun  for  duck-shooting; 
yet  my  good  friend  Fred.  Kimble,  of  Peoria,  111., 
reputed  (and  I  declare  I  honestly  believe  it)  the  finest 
shot  at  wild  fowl  in  America,  prefers  a  heavier  and 
much  longer  gun,  his  being  one  of  eleven  pounds  in 
weight,  and  barrels  thirty-four  inches  long.  That  gun, 
in  his  hands,  with  five  drams  of  F.  Gr.  Dead  Shot,  good 


438  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

wadding,  and  one  and  a  quarter  of  4's,  reaches  ducks  at 
such  tremendous  heights,  kills  them  so  dead — stone  dead  in 
the  air — that  it  seems  sacrilegious  to  even  mention  one  of 
different  dimensions.  It  may  be  that  greater  experience 
in  this,  the  most  difficult  of  all  shooting,  would  teach  me 
that  longer  barrels  are  of  benefit. 

Of  one  thing  there  can  be  no  doubt;  a  well-bored 
ten-gauge  gun,  with  thirty-inch  barrels,  can  be  made  to 
shoot  so  compactly  that  it  will  be  a  sure  killer,  if  prop- 
erly held  and  loaded,  up  to  fifty-five  yards,  nearly 
always  reliable  at  sixty,  and  generally  good  up  to  sixty- 
five  or  seventy.  Now,  in  order  to  fully  understand  this 
part  of  the  question,  it  is  essential  to  clearly  understand 
the  pace  at  which  a  duck  flies.  It  is  far  easier  to  obtain 
a  gun  that  will  kill  at  sixty  yards  seven  times  out  of  ten, 
than  it  is  to  find  a  man  capable  of  doing  the  steering 
three  times  out  of  as  many  shots;  in  fact,  it  takes  a 
remarkably  good  marksman  to  kill  and  bag  two  ducks  in 
five  shots  in  flight-shooting,  even  if  shooting  inside  of 
forty -five  yards,  while  most  men  who  are  considered 
good  wild-fowl  shots  are  content  with  bagging  one  duck 
for  every  three  shells.  Up  to  forty  yards,  a  charge  of 
loose  shot  does  not  lose  much  of  its  highest  velocity;  but 
after  going  fifty  yards,  it  commences  to  slacken  to  such 
an  extent  that  the  holding  ahead  on  all  cross-shots  is  a 
matter  of  great  consideration.  For  instance,  the  lead 
allowed  on  a  duck  flying  across  at  forty  yards  should  be 
doubled  if  the  bird  is  at  sixty;  and  even  then,  unless  a 
good  double  allowance  is  given,  the  chances  are  the  load 
will  get  where  the  bird  was — "  too  late." 

It  would  be  absurd  to  lay  down  any  given  rule  by 
which  this  leading  on  cross-shots  could  be  measured. 
One  man  throws  his  gun  to  his  shoulder,  swings  well 
ahead,  and  pulls;  another  deliberately  catches  up  to  his 
bird,  leads  it  far  more  than  the  other,  draws  just  a  frac- 


GUNS.  439 

tion  of  a  second,  and  then  pulls  trigger.  This  man  must 
be  extremely  liberal  in  the  allowance,  if  in  nothing  else, 
for  the  duck  is  going  ahead  all  this  time.  Then  comes 
the  man  whose  muscles  and  nerves  act  in  quickest  con- 
cert with  his  brain.  This  man  does  not  lead  his  birds  as 
much,  but  still  Tie  must  pull  in  ahead  if  he  would  kill, 
for  nothing  can  overcome  the  flight  of  the  bird  at  right 
angles  to  the  charge  of  shot — nothing  except  getting  the 
load  where  the  bird  will  be  when  it  reaches  it;  and,  by 
the  way,  if,  as  many  suppose,  a  load  of  shot  could  be 
made  to  fly  through  the  air  flat  as  a  plate,  instead  of 
stringing  out  for  several  feet,  it  is  very  doubtful  if  any- 
one could  be  found  skillful  enough  to  kill  birds  on  the 
wing,  for  then  the  connection  of  the  bird  and  the  shot 
would  have  to  be  simultaneous,  else  they  would  never 
meet. 

The  pattern  of  a  shot-gun,  therefore,  as  revealed  on  a 
piece  of  paper,  is  very  .misleading,  for  although  there 
may  be  gaps  and  many  places  untouched  by  a  single 
pellet,  yet  were  this  paper  a  moving  object  it  would  be 
pretty  certain  to  fly  into  the  shot  by  going  across  it,  and 
thereby  allowing  either  the  fastest  or  slowest  pellets  to 
perforate  it;  hence  it  is  that  many  guns  that  don' t  per- 
form above  the  average  when  tried  at  paper  circles,  yet 
as  game-killers  they  answer  admirably,  giving,  as  they  do, 
a  greater  margin  to  the  shooter,  helping  him,  by  their 
large  spread,  to  correct  faulty  aim  or  improper  allowance, 
where  a  very  close-shooting  gun  just  misses  altogether. 
Yet,  as  before  stated,  a  duck-gun  should  be  a  long-range 
one,  for  wild  fowl  are  shy,  wary  birds,  that  take  plenty 
of  hitting  to  double  them  up;  and  as  cripples  are,  for  the 
most  part,  lost  in  many  places,  it  is  far  better  to  miss 
completely  than  wound  a  lot  of  fine  birds,  doomed  to  die 
a  lingering  death,  and  furnish  food  for  the  marauders  that 
ceaselessly  watch  their  prey. 


440  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

KESUME. 

Many  years  ago,  the  average  American  sportsman,  to 
be  well  served,  had  to  purchase  his  guns  of  English  make, 
for  very  few  good  and  handsome  guns  were  made  in  his 
country  as  compared  with  those  turned  out  abroad. 
London  then,  as  now,  went  in  the  van,  for  the  most 
beautiful  and  highest  art  in  guns  certainly  claims  Lon- 
don as  home.  There  is  no  disputing  this.  Still,  magnifi- 
cent guns  are  built  in  Birmingham,  more  particularly  by 
the  Messrs.  Scott  &  Son,  who  have  so  justly  earned  a 
most  enviable  reputation,  here  and  in  many  foreign  coun- 
tries, for  the  general  excellence  of  their  fire-arms.  Tolley, 
Greener,  Bonehill,  and  others  too  numerous  to  mention, 
make  splendid  guns,  all  well  known  in  America,  than 
which,  in  its  length  and  breadth,  it  would  indeed  be  a 
hard  matter  to  find  a  more  trying  country  on  fire-arms. 

Nowadays,  and  for  several  years  back,  guns  are  pro- 
duced in  America  which,  for  range,  durability,  closeness 
of  fitting,  and  absolute  worth,  can  not  be  excelled,  at  the 
price,  by  any  made  the  world  over,  so  that  it  is  quite 
en  regie  for  some  of  the  English  makers  to  attempt  to 
make  it  appear  that  the  home  guns  are  merely  "mus- 
kets," while  theirs  are  works  of  art.  This  is  a  last  gasp 
of  the  man  who  finds  his  much-vaunted  and  highly  over- 
rated wares  steadily  pushed  to  one  side,  to  allow  others 
possessing  greater  and  more  enduring  merit  to  take  preced- 
ence. Such  a  master  as  Purdey,  for  instance,  is  totally 
oblivious  of  any  and  all  machine-made  guns;  they  come 
not  into  competition  with  his  masterpieces.  The  man  wh  o 
wants  a  Purdey  is  after  something  different  from  an 
ordinary  gun,  though  it  be  ever  so  good.  He  wants 
symmetry,  beauty,  elegance,  high-bred  work  all  over,  com- 
bined with  greatest  shooting  power  and  durability,  and 
he  is  willing  to  pay  for  his  fancy — and  so  he  must;  while, 


GUNS. 


441 


for  actual  service,  a  home-made  gun,  costing  only  one- 
tenth  as  much,  may  be  found  to  be  just  as  well;  but  it  can 
never  present  the  same  appearance,  nor  have  its  exquisite 
balance  and  grace  of  outline,  and  herein  lie  its  principal 
charms. 

There  are  so  many  excellent  makes  of  guns  in  this 
country,  that  it  is  a  good  deal  a  matter  of  choice  as  to 
which  one  we  will  select.  The  cheapest  American  guns 
are  to  be  preferred  to  common  Birmingham  or  Belgian 
makes,  as  they  invariably  fit  closer  in  their  joints,  are 
more  durable,  and,  as  a  rule,  are  much  better  shooters; 
aside  from  this,  they  are  made  with  interchangeable  parts, 
so  that  any  break-down  can  easily  be  remedied  at  a 
trifling  expense. 

In  so  vast  a  country,  and  where  so  many  thousands  of 
men  use  guns,  there  ought  to  be  room  for  all;  yet  some 
will  get  driven  to  the  wall,  and  experience  only  will 
teach  many  which  are  the  best  guns. 


COURSING. 


BY  G.  IRAVIX  ROYCE,  M.  D. 


O  other  field  sport  or  contest  with  animals 
attracts  such  universal  attention  as  coursing. 
It  is  devoid  of  unpleasant  and  objectionable 
features  that  attach  to  horse-racing,  gun- 
ning, and  many  other  legitimate  field  sports, 
which  in  themselves  are  comparatively  harmless;  but 
associations  attending  them  prevent  their  being  engaged 
in  or  enjoyed  by  those  who  are  endowed  with  intensified 
moral  sentiments. 

But  coursing,  or  contesting  the  speed  of  greyhounds, 
although  comparatively  new  in  this  country  as  a  scien- 
tific contest,  has  an  assured  popularity,  and  justly  so,  for 
the  old  and  young,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  can  attend  a 
coursing  meet  with  perfect  propriety,  and  with  the  most 
intense  pleasure. 

Local  clubs  are  being  formed  in  all  portions  of  the 
United  States,  and  the  graceful  greyhound  is  eagerly 
sought  after,  not  only  for  field-work,  but  as  a  suitable 
companion  for  a  lady  on  horseback  or  a  gentleman  on  a 
stroll,  and  as  a  necessary  adjunct  to  complete  an  elegant 
turnout,  and  also  as  an  ornament  for  the  lawn. 

The  younger  Xenophon,  in  his  description  of  the  grey- 
hound when  first  introduced  into  Greece,  says: 

'  *  In  figure  the  most  high-bred  are  a  prodigy  of  beauty 
— their  eyes,  their  hair,  their  color,  their  bodily  shape 
throughout.  Such  brilliancy  of  gloss  is  there  about  the 
spottiness  of  the  parti-color,  and,  in  those  of  uniform 

(443) 


444  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

color,  such  glistening  over  the  sameness  of  tint,  as  to 
afford  a  most  delightful  spectacle  to  an  amateur  of 
coursing. 

k "  I  have  myself  bred  up  a  swift,  hard- working,  cour- 
ageous, sound-footed  dog.  He  is  most  gentle  and  kindly 
affectioned,  and  never  before  had  I  any  such  a  dog  for 
myself  or  my  friend,  or  my  fellow  sportsman.  When 
not  actually  engaged  in  coursing,  he  is  never  away  from 
me.  If  a  short  time  only  has  passed  since  he  saw  me  or  my 
friend,  he  jumps  repeatedly  by  way  of  salutation,  and 
barks  with  joy  as  a  greeting  to  us.  He  has  also  different 
tones  of  speech,  and  such  as  I  never  heard  from  any  other 
dog.  Now  I  do  not  think  that  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to 
chronicle  the  name  of  this  dog,  or  let  posterity  know 
that  Xenophon  the  Athenian  had  a  greyhound  called 
Horme,  possessed  of  the  greatest  speed  and  intelligence 
and  fidelity,  and  excellent  in  every  point." 

The  Greek  sportsmen  held  their  greyhounds  in  the 
highest  regard,  even  employing  servants  as  bed-fellows, 
and  would  exact  as  much  attention  from  them  as  they 
required  shown  to  their  children. 

Until  the  last  century,  the  common  people  were  not 
allowed  to  possess  a  greyhound  in  many  portions  of 
Europe,  and  even  to-day  they  are  acknowledged  the  aris- 
tocrats among  dogs. 

Should  I  attempt  to  give  a  full  history  of  the  grey- 
hound and  coursing,  it  would  fill  a  large  volume;  but 
being  limited  in  space,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  coursing, 
or  hunting  wild  animals  with  fleet-footed  dogs,  is  of  very 
ancient  origin,  and  the  greyhound,  in  a  somewhat  varied 
form  from  what  we  now  see,  was  one  of  the  first  dogs 
mentioned  in  history,  and  is  seen  sculptured  on  the  ruins 
of  some  of  the  most  ancient  structures. 

They  were  originally  employed  in  the  chase  for  large 
game,  as  tigers,  wolves,  wild  boars,  deer,  etc.,  and  were 


COURSIXG.  445 

necessarily  of  a  larger  and  more  ferocious  type;  but  as 
the  larger  game  became  less  numerous,  the  form,  size,  and 
disposition  of  the  greyhound  was  materially  changed, 
until  to-day  we  have  several  varieties  of  the  same  species, 
different  countries  having  a  greyhound  best  adapted  to 
the  purpose  for  which  they  are  made  most  useful  to  their 
owners. 

The  different  varieties  will  be  briefly  considered,  and 
to  prevent  confusion  a  classification  will  be  chosen  that 
will  enable  anyone  to  distinguish  the  variety  to  which 
each  belongs,  and  breeders  and  owners  will  do  well  to 
adhere  to  this  classification. 

We  often  hear  mentioned  the  deer-hound,  the  stag- 
hound,  boar-hound,  wolf -hound,  and  these  terms  can  be 
applied  with  equal  propriety  to  the  Scotch  greyhound, 
the  large  fox-hound,  the  Russian  greyhound,  or  even  the 
Great  Dane,  and  endless  confusion  is  the  result;  and  in 
order  to  avoid  any  misunderstanding,  I  shall  arrange 
them  in  the  following  order: 

Scotch    }  1  Persian 

English   •         Greyhound.          <  Russian 
Grecian  )  ( Italian 

We  have  only  included  the  best-known  and  well- 
authenticated  varieties,  although  there  may  be  other  dogs, 
bearing  a  resemblance  to  the  greyhound,  that  are 
used  in  hunting  game  by  sight,  as  the  French  matin, 
which,  however,  resembles  the  collie  quite  as  closely  as 
the  greyhound,  and,  in  fact,  is  made  useful  as  a  herder. 
Other  varieties,  as  the  Irish  wolf-hound,  so  called,  might 
with  propriety  be  included  in  the  list;  but  they  so  closely 
resemble  the  Scotch  greyhound,  and  are  so  nearly  extinct, 
that  they  are  hardly  worthy  of  a  separate  classification. 

As  to  the  origin  of  the  name  greyhound,  very  little  has 
been  definitely  learned.  Some  authors  claim  that  the  name 
was  derived  from  Grsecus  (Greek  hound),  while  others 


446  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

give  it  as  their  opinion  that  it  was  a  corruption  from  gaze- 
hound. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  name  is  now  firmly  attached  to 
this  family  of  dogs,  and  there  being  such  a  close  resem- 
blance in  the  several  varieties,  it  is  more  comprehensive 
to  include  all  under  the  name  greyhound. 

It  is  generally  conceded  that  they  were  of  Celtic  origin, 
and  were  brought  by  the  various  tribes  to  the  southern 
part  of  Europe  and  the  British  Isles. 

THE   SCOTCH   GREYHOUND 

Will  be  first  considered,  because  they  are  better  known 
and  are  more  numerous  than  either  of  the  other  varieties, 
except  the  English  greyhound,  and  perhaps  more  nearly 
resemble  the  old  Celtic  hound. 

The  extremes  of  size  and  peculiarity  of  coat  were 
brought  about  by  breeding,  to  adapt  them  to  the  more 
northern  and  rougher  country,  and  in  time  they  became 
strong  enough  to  pull  down  the  largest  stag.  The  coat  is 
long  and  wiry,  and  well  calculated  to  afford  protection 
against  injury  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather  in  the 
Scottish  mountains. 

They  are  large  and  powerfully  made,  with  extra- strong 
bone,  and  well  muscled.  The  color  is  more  commonly 
a  dark  brindle  or  gray,  but  often  light  fawn,  or  even 
mouse-color. 

Being  unable  to  pursue  their  game  by  sight  in  a  mount- 
ainous country,  the  power  of  scent  was  cultivated,  and 
speed  was  in  a  measure  sacrificed  to  size;  and  fanciers  of 
the  Scotch  greyhound  are  careful  to  mention  the  fact  that 
they  are  able  to  pursue  a  wounded  deer  silently  by  the  trail, 
and  when  they  have  overtaken  him,  have  the  power  and 
courage  to  kill. 

Their  size  naturally  inspires  confidence,  their  coarse, 
bristly  coat  giving  them  the  appearance  of  being  much 


COUKSIXO.  447 

larger  than  they  really  are.  A  variety  is  coming  into 
favor  in  this  country  having  a  longer  and  softer  coat  than 
the  older  dogs.  The  coat,  though  quite  like  that  of  the 
collie  or  Newfoundland,  lacks  that  close  under-coat  which 
is  the  real  protection  against  inclement  weather,  and, 
when  wet,  they  have  a  drabbled  appearance,  which  will 
detract  from  their  usefulness  as  a  rough  country  worker. 

They  are,  as  a  rule,  intelligent  and  affectionate  to 
their  owner;  but  when  in  the  field  show  undoubted  cour- 
age, and  are  emphatically  killers. 

They  are  gradually  becoming  more  numerous  in  this 
country,  and  will  in  time  be  found  a  necessity,  with  the 
other  types  of  greyhounds,  in  destroying  the  wolf  and 
coyote,  which  are  gaining  in  numbers  in  the  Western 
country  to  a  dangerous  extent. 

They  have  been  employed  successfully  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  in  hunting  elk,  deer,  and  other  large  game, 
and  in  coursing  antelope  on  the  plains.  In  the  lowlands 
of  Scotland,  they  are  used  for  coursing  hares,  but  are  a 
smaller  variety. 

THE  ENGLISH  GREYHOUND 

Is  pre-eminently  the  most  popular  form  of  the  greyhound 
family,  and  has  been  brought  nearer  to  a  state  of 
perfection. 

As  the  larger  game  became  nearly  or  quite  extinct  in 
England,  and  the  hare  only  remained  for  the  greyhound 
to  pursue,  he  was  gradually  reduced  in  size,  the  coat 
became  closer,  and  speed  and  ability  to  turn  more  clev- 
erly was  cultivated,  and  for  over  100  years  they  have 
been  employed  in  scientific  contests;  and  to-day  they  are 
nearly  a  match  for  the  swiftest  hare  in  this  country  or 
in  England,  but,  like  the  thoroughbred  horse,  have 
undoubtedly  reached  the  height  of  speed  possible  to 
attain,  and  only  now  and  then  one  appears  having 


448  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

phenomenal  speed  and  working  power,  that  gives  him  a 
manifest  pre-eminence  above  his  fellows. 

To  within  a  few  years,  little  attention  has  been  given 
to  careful  breeding  in  this  country,  and,  as  a  result,  we 
more  commonly  see  a  large,  coarse  dog,  showing  an  out- 
cross  with  some  other  breed  of  dog;  but  as  the  interest  in 
coursing  increases,  a  strain  will  be  developed  that  will  be 
able  to  contest  the  honors  with  the  best-bred  specimens 
on  their  native  heath. 

No  attention  has  ever  been  given  to  breeding  any 
special  color,  and  a  greyhound  may  be  the  color  of  any 
other  dog  known.  The  name  greyhound  has  no  reference 
to  color  whatever. 

They  have  been  trained  to  run  altogether  by  sight, 
and  the  power  of  scent  has  lain  dormant  for  want  of  exer- 
cise; but  should  a  pair  of  greyhounds  be  allowed  to  run  a 
trail,  and  encouraged  to  do  so,  the  offspring  will  show 
the  same  inclination  in  a  marked  degree. 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  sight  to  see  a  greyhound  take 
the  trail  of  a  wolf  before  a  pack  of  fox-hounds,  and  run 
by  the  scent  for  miles,  far  in  advance  of  the  pack. 

Even  the  imported  greyhounds,  from  the  best  strains 
in  England,  are  quite  diligent  in  picking  up  the  trail, 
when  unsighted,  from  a  rabbit  they  have  been  pursuing. 

Why  such  erroneous  ideas  in  regard  to  this  breed  are 
held,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive;  but  the  great  majority  of 
those  not  familiar  with  their  peculiarities  entertain  the 
view  that  they  are  neither  intelligent  or  affectionate. 
All  kinds  of  animals  have  their  individual  peculiarities, 
like  human  beings,  and  the  greyhound  is  no  exception  to 
the  rule. 

Some  of  them  are  as  sensitive  and  delicate  as  a  young 
fawn,  while  others  are  as  coarse  and  stubborn  as  a  mule, 
possess  the  courage  of  a  bull-dog,  and  are  what  would 
be  called  good  watch-dogs. 


cor  USING.  449 

Sir  Phillip  Warwick,  in  writing  of  Charles  I.,  who  was 
as  fond  of  a  greyhound  as  his  son  Charles  II.  was  of  a 
spaniel,  says  of  him: 

"Methinks  because  it  shows  his  dislike  for  a  common 
court  vice,  it  is  not  unworthy  the  relating  of  him,  that 
one  evening,  his  dog  scratching  at  his  door,  he  com- 
manded me  to  let  him  in,  whereupon  I  took  the  liberty 
to  say,  '  Sir,  I  perceive  that  you  love  a  greyhound  better 
than  you  do  a  spaniel.' 

"' Yes. '  says  he,  'for  they  equally  love  their  master, 
but  do  not  flatter  him  so  much.'  ' 

They  are  quiet  and  dignified,  and  not  as  demonstrative 
as  many  other  varieties  of  dogs,  but  to  their  owners  dis- 
play marked  affection  and  a  high  grade  of  intelligence. 

Again  referring  to  color,  we  will  say  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  taste  as  to  the  color  selected.  For  exhibition  only,  the 
fawn,  mouse,  or  white  is  preferable,  but  some  old  coursers 
contend  that  the  darker  colors,  as  black  or  brindle,  are 
more  hardy;  but  observation  will  show  that  color  has 
very  little  to  do  in  influencing  speed  or  endurance.  To 
combine  the  greatest  speed  with  the  most  pleasing  color 
and  outline,  should  be  the  results  aimed  at  in  breeding. 

We  also  find  a  considerable  variation  in  size,  ranging 
from  35  to  100  pounds;  but  the  heavier  dogs  are  not 
adapted  to  coursing  hares,  and  are  only  used  to  hunt 
larger  game.  They  are  more  showy,  and  for  the  city,  to 
be  used  as  coach-dogs,  are  more  desired  than  the  smaller 
greyhounds, 

A  model  greyhound  should  be  about  sixty  pounds  in 
weight,  with  the  muscular  system  evenly  developed,  with 

' '  A  head  like  a  snake, 
A  neck  like  a  drake, 
A  breast  like  a  bream  (a  fish), 
A  back  like  a  beam, 
Paws  like  a  cat, 

A  tail  like  a  rat." 
29 


450  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

The  head  should  be  long,  and  slightly  wedge-shaped, 
with  ears  small  and  well  set  upon  the  head.  The  eye 
should  be  moderately  full,  with  an  expression  of  alertness, 
and  possessed  of  a  power  to  see  objects  at  a  great  dis- 
tance. 

The  neck  is  an  important  factor,  and  should  be  long,  to 
correspond  to  the  length  of  the  legs,  in  order  to  enable 
him  to  seize  the  hare,  while  running  at  the  height  of  his 
speed,  without  throwing  extra  weight  on  the  fore  quar- 
ters, and  to  prevent  falling. 

The  neck  should  taper  from  the  shoulders  to  the  head, 
and  should  be  slightly  arched.  The  chest  should  be 
capacious,  with  ribs  well  sprung,  but  not  so  wide  at  the 
lower  portion  as  to  prevent  a  free  action  to  the  elbows. 

The  shoulders  should  be  broad  and  deep,  and  placed 
obliquely. 

The  fore  legs  should  be  nearly  straight,  with  only  a 
slight  curve  at  the  pasterns,  and  well  set  on  the  feet, 
which  should  stand  straight,  neither  turning  in  or  out. 

The  loin  should  be  strong,  moderately  wide,  gradu- 
ally tapering  from  the  middle  to  the  attachments,  and 
well  arched,  and  free  from  any  appearance  of  coarseness, 
and  not  too  long.  With  muscular  hind  quarters  and  a 
well-developed  loin,  a  dog  has  the  advantage  in  the  pro- 
pulsory  motion  over  another  dog  deficient  in  this  partic- 
ular, be  he  ever  so  perfectly  developed  otherwise. 

The  hind  legs  should  be  wide  as  well  as  thick,  with 
well-bent  stifles,  and  hocks  placed  low  down. 

The  tail  must  be  long,  well  set  on,  and  gradually  taper- 
ing from  the  body  to  the  extremity,  where  it  should  be 
no  larger  than  a  lead  pencil.  The  carriage  of  the  tail  by 
a  greyhound  has  considerable  influence  in  giving  a  pleas- 
ing appearance  to  his  outline.  It  should  be  carried  low 
down,  and  only  rolled  sufficiently  so  that  the  end  points 
toward  the  top  of  the  hips. 


COURSING.  451 

The  feet  rnay  be  either  cat-like  or  more  like  the  hare's 
foot;  but  a  foot  that  avoids  either  extreme  is  preferable. 
It  should  be  close,  giving  the  dog  the  appearance  of 
standing  on  his  toes.  A  splay-footed  dog  is  to  a  great 
disadvantage,  especially  when  running  a  plowed  field. 

The  bones  should  be  large,  but  not  coarse,  in  order  to 
give  firm  attachment  to  the  muscles. 

For  coursing,  the  male  should  weigh  about  sixty 
pounds  and  the  female  fifty -five. 

The  Grecian  and  Persian  greyhounds  are  owned  and 
bred  almost  exclusively  in  the  countries  from  which  they 
derive  their  names,  and  are  little  known  in  connection 
with  public  coursing. 

The  Grecian  greyhound  is  not  as  large  as  the  English 
greyhound,  and  has  a  coat  of  hair  more  like  a  setter,  with 
rather  long,  drooping  ears  and  a  bushy  tail.  He  has  a 
very  pleasing  and  graceful  outline. 

The  Persian  greyhound  is  smaller  than  the  English 
greyhound,  but  made  on  a  more  graceful  model.  On  the 
body,  the  coat  is  closer  than  the  Grecian,  but  the  ears 
have  a  coat  of  long,  silky  hair,  like  a  spaniel.  The  ears 
are  long  and  drooping,  and  the  legs  are  more  or  less 
feathered,  like  the  setter.  The  tail  is  long,  and  well 
curved,  and  is  unfortunately  provided  with  a  super- 
abundance of  long,  bushy  hair,  giving  it  the  appearance 
of  being  overburdened. 

They  are  used  for  coursing  the  hare,  antelope,  wild 
ass,  and  boar.  Although  they  are  slender  and  delicate 
in  appearance,  they  are  possessed  of  most  wonderful 
courage. 

They  are  used,  in  connection  with  the  falcon,  in  pursu- 
ing the  wild  ass  and  antelope,  which  are  more  than  a 
match  for  even  these  fleet-footed  dogs;  and  not  infre- 
quently the  rifle  is  brought  into  requisition  to  assist  in 
their  capture,  as  these  fearless  riders  pursue  the  game 


452  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

over  the  roughest  mountainous  country,  across  ravines, 
through  swift-flowing  streams,  undaunted  by  the  most 
formidable  obstacles. 

The  Russian  greyhound,  which  is  more  commonly 
called  the  Siberian  wolf-hound,  is  probably  the  most 
majestic  and  noble  specimen  of  the  greyhound.  He  is  a 
large,  powerful  fellow,  with  the  courage  of  a  lion,  and  the 
speed  and  endurance  of  both  the  Scotch  and  English 
greyhounds. 

They  are  used  for  killing  large  game,  especially  the 
wolf,  but  are  occasionally  used  in  following  the  hare. 
They  hunt  by  scent  as  well  as  by  sight,  and  are  often 
taken  out  in  packs  in  hunting  the  wolf. 

The  coat  is  long,  soft,  and  silky,  with  a  close  under- 
coat, that  enables  them  to  endure  the  rigors  of  the  Rus- 
sian winter.  Their  color  is  a  dark  brown,  or  gray,  with 
variations  in  shading.  They  are  owned  mostly  by  the 
nobility  in  Russia,  and  but  few  specimens  of  the  breed 
can  be  found  in  this  country. 

Undoubtedly  they  would  be  well  adapted  to  our  North- 
western country,  being  well  able  to  endure  the  cold,  and 
would  materially  assist  in  ridding  the  country  of  the 
wolves  and  coyotes. 

THE   ITALIAN   GKEYHOUND 

Is  emphatically  a  parlor  pet,  and  is  of  no  practical  use  in 
the  pursuit  of  game.  In  their  outline  they  resemble  the 
English  greyhound,  but  are  as  delicate  in  structure  as  a 
young  fawn,  and  being  natives  of  a  warm  country,  are 
extremely  sensitive  to  cold.  They  have  less  diversity  of 
color,  being  usually  of  a  delicate,  golden  fawn-color,  but 
are  frequently  mouse-color,  or  may  be  pure  white,  or  mot- 
tled, and  are  very  attractive  in  the  drawing-room. 

Their  weight  is  about  ten  pounds,  but  often  much 
heavier,  from  careless  breeding,  and  some  of  the  larger 


COURSING.  453 

specimens  have  been  used  for  coursing  the  hare  or  small 
rabbit. 

Now  that  coursing  is  thoroughly  established  in  this 
country  as  a  popular  pastime,  and  in  view  of  the  value 
which  must  attach  to  the  greyhound  from  now  on, 
special  care  should  be  exercised  in  breeding  this 
noble  animal.  An  inferior  greyhound  shows  defects 
more  quickly,  to  an  experienced  judge,  than  almost  any 
other  breed.  A  departure  from  the  laws  of  symmetry 
detracts  from  that  grace  which  they  so  perfectly  illus- 
trate in  outline  and  motion.  The  laws  governing  the 
reproduction  of  species  are  simple  and  easily  applied,  but 
success  in  breeding  depends  upon  an  instinctive  love  for 
the  animal  kingdom,  combined  with  a  close  study  of  for- 
mation. 

The  Darwinian  theory  of  selection,  if  one  acquaints 
himself  with  it,  will  lead  to  success  in  breeding  all  kinds 
of  animals,  for  the  rules  laid  down  are,  always  sure  in 
their  results  if  properly  applied. 

It  need  not  take  a  long  series  of  experiments,  requir- 
ing years,  for  even  a  novice  to  produce  a  greyhound  hav- 
ing a  beautiful  outline,  with  the  greatest  speed  attainable, 
for  there  are  enough  good  greyhounds  in  this  country, 
including  those  recently  imported,  to  give  a  foundation 
for  breeding. 

The  first  desideratum  is  speed,  and  the  second  is 
ability  to  recover  after  turning  a  hare;  but  a  perfect  out- 
line, with  a  pleasing  color,  with  strength  and  endurance, 
should  by  no  means  be  ignored  in  an  effort  to  produce  a 
speedy  greyhound. 

All  of  these  qualities  can  be  secured  by  careful 
breeding. 

The  theory  of  selection,  and  its  practical  application, 
is  based  on  the  principle  that  like  begets  like;  and 
by  selecting  both  parents  having  the  qualities  desired 


454  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

largely  developed,  the  offspring  will  likely  have  the 
same  developed  in  a  still  more  intensified  degree — 
some  of  them,  at  least.  Now,  to  overcome  any  marked 
defect  in  either  parent,  and  to  prevent  its  being  shown 
in  the  young,  select  for  a  mate  to  the  one  defective,  one 
having  the  peculiarity  largely  developed. 

In  some  of  the  produce  the  defect  will  be  entirely 
overcome,  while  in  others  of  the  same  litter  it  will  plainly 
show.  Retain  for  future  breeding  those  showing  the 
desired  points,  and  discard  the  defective  ones. 

Always  keep  the  best. 

Unless  these  rules  are  observed,  failure  will  nearly 
always  result. 

How  often  we  see  disappointment  in  breeding,  when  an 
inexperienced  person,  transient  in  his  enthusiasm,  but 
having  an  abundance  of  cash,  attempts  to  reproduce  a 
perfect  specimen  of  any  variety  of  the  canine  race  by 
purchasing  and  mating  two  prize-winners,  one  taking 
honors  on  the  bench  and  the  other  in  the  field.  Either, 
for  the  purpose  designed,  have  the  qualities  desired,  and 
justly  won  the  medals,  but  a  marked  dissimilarity  of 
structure,  and  being  of  a  distinct  strain,  and  possibly 
defective  in  the  same  points,  prevents  their  mixing  prop- 
erly, and  their  offspring  are  quite  worthless;  and  the 
novice  is  disgusted,  sells  out  at  a  sacrifice,  and  will 
contend  that  he  was  swindled  in  the  purchase. 

Had  a  scientific  breeder  been  consulted,  he  would  have 
seen  at  a  glance  that  it  was  an  improper  mating. 

Not  that  this  is  always  the  case,  for  frequently  one 
blunders  into  success,  and  some  of  the  best  combination 
dogs  have  been  produced  in  this  way;  but  should  the 
matter  be  traced  up  carefully,  it  would  be  found  that, 
more  frequently  than  otherwise,  the  results  were  obtained 
by  one  conversant  with  the  laws  governing  the  reproduc- 
tion of  species. 


COURSING.  455 

One  of  the  principal  causes  of  failure  in  breeding  is  in 
leaving  these  matters  in  the  hands  of  attendants,  who 
have  little  or  no  interest  further  than  to  obey  orders, 
when  it  does  not  conflict  with  their  ease  and  pleasure. 

A  person  not  having  time  to  personally  superintend 
the  mating  of  any  fine  stock,  should  not  engage  in  breed- 
ing with  any  expectation  of  success  or  profit. 

The  care  of  the  greyhound  while-  rearing  its  young, 
and  while  in  training  for  field  contests,  should  be  care- 
fully studied;  and,  as  the  interest  extends,  the  novice  will 
eagerly  seek  all  information  obtainable,  that  he  may 
compete  successfully  with  those  having  obtained  their 
knowledge  by  careful  observation  and  an  expensive 
experience. 

The  first  requisite  is  to  obtain  a  pair  of  greyhounds 
from  an  honorable  and  successful  breeder,  and  then  bear 
in  mind  that  the  training  should  really  begin  sixty- three 
days  previous  to  their  birth.  The  mother  should  be 
carefully  fed,  and  all  the  affection  possible  lavished  on 
her. 

She  should  be  exercised  regularly  to  within  ten  days 
of  the  birth  of  the  future  winners. 

The  disposition,  and  many  other  qualities  desired,  can 
be  stamped  in  the  young,  through  the  mother,  the  first 
thirty  days  of  conception;  and  in  order  to  give  activity, 
an  eagerness  for  the  chase,  and  a  desire  to  kill,  the 
mother  should  be  taken  into  the  field  and  allowed -to 
share  in  the  chase.  To  allow  her  to  lie  around  the  ken- 
nel or  yard,  and  accumulate  fat  and  laziness,  is  positively 
injurious  to  the  mother  and  young  both. 

While  in  the  field,  great  care  should  be  exercised,  lest 
she  become  exhausted  or  overheated,  especially  the 
latter.  After  the  birth  of  the  pups,  the  mother  should 
be  fed  all  she  will  possibly  eat,  and  food  of  rather  a 
sloppy  nature.  The  little  ones  should  be  fed  about  the 


456  UPLAND   SHOOTIXG. 

fourth  week,  or  earlier  if  they  are  not  receiving  sufficient 
nourishment  from  the  mother. 

The  food  should  be  made  of  boiled  milk,  rolled 
crackers,  stale  bread,  and  well -cooked  meat  picked  up 
into  small  fragments,  with  a  moderate  amount  of  thor- 
oughly cooked  oatmeal. 

Feed  this  mixture  twice  daily  for  two  weeks  before 
fully  weaning  them. 

The  stomach  and  bowels  will  by  this  means  become 
accustomed  to  the  change  gradually,  and  when  finally 
taken  from  the  mother  will  not  suffer  in  the  least. 

They  should  now  be  fed  three  times  a  day,  and  with 
regularity. 

After  the  third  month,  the  food  can  be  made  more  solid, 
and  soft  bones  can  be  given  them  now  and  then.  Table- 
scraps,  well  selected,  are  often  made  a  standard  diet  for 
growing  pups,  but  the  greatest  care  should  be  exercised 
in  selecting  them,  especially  when  obtained  from  hotels, 
or  acid  substances,  pie,  an  excess  of  mustard,  salt,  or 
pepper  will  be  inadvertently  added,  and  may  cause  a  dis- 
turbance of  the  stomach  or  bowels  that  will  be  difficult 
to  remedy. 

Admonish  the  cook  to  provide  only  meal,  bread,  pota- 
toes and  other  vegetables.  A  gentle  admonition  in  this 
case  will  not  suffice,  and  a  repetition  will  do  very  little 
injury. 

•  For  the  first  nine  months,  pups  should  be  allowed  to 
run  about  with  little  or  no  restraint,  and  should  be  fed 
liberally,  and  kept  sleek  and  fat.  If  allowed  sufficient 
liberty,  they  will  take  all  the  exercise  that  they  require, 
especially  if  there  are  two  or  more  together. 

If  you  are  obliged  to  confine  them  to  a  kennel,  supply 
as  much  space  as  possible;  but  under  no  circumstances 
should  they  be  kept  constantly  on  a  chain  before  they 
have  reached  maturity.  Other  breeds  of  dogs  will  appar- 


COUKSI.NC.  457 

ently  do  well  and  thrive,  and  only  see  freedom  for  a  very 
few  minutes  each  day,  but  a  greyhound  is  not  made  that 
way. 

Although  you  may  exercise  your  authority,  and 
oblige  them  to  go  into  the  kennel,  still  it  is  better  to 
induce  them  to  go  in  by  offering  a  bit  of  food.  Never 
attempt  to  subdue  their  will  or  break  their  spirits, 
for  a  greyhound  becomes  cowed  and  sneaky  by  harsh 
treatment;  their  usefulness  is  greatly  lessened,  or,  more 
likely,  they  are  ruined  entirely.  When  of  mature  age, 
they  can,  with  patience,  be  taught  anything,  but  usually 
their  education  is  sadly  neglected,  and  they  give  one  the 
impression  that  the y  have  little  intelligence;  but  take  those 
having  ordinary  dog  sense,  and  carefully  teach  them 
various  tricks,  and  see  how  readily  they  will  take  to  their 
lessons  after  finding  out  what  is  wanted  of  them. 

Actual  field-training  can  begin  about  the  tenth  month, 
especially  with  the  females,  as  they  develop  about  six 
months  earlier  than  the  dogs. 

Allow  them  to  follow  the  carriage  or  saddle-horse  for 
a  short  distance  each  day;  but  until  the  muscles  are  well 
developed,  they  should  not  be  allowed  in  the  field  after 
game. 

When  first  taken  to  the  coursing-ground,  let  them 
accompany  a  pair  of  good  reliable  killers;  and  after  the 
game  is  secured,  allow  them  to  mouth  it,  and  encourage 
them  by  a  friendly  pat.  Soon  they  will  learn  the  trick, 
and  then  may  assist  one  dog  for  a  race  or  two.  They 
may  now  be  twelve  months  old,  and  a  pair  of  youngsters 
may  be  taken  afield  together. 

Their  diet  can  be  changed  gradually  to  a  drier  and  more 
concentrated  food,  and  the  largest  meal  given  at  night, 
that  digestion  may  be  completed  while  they  are  sleeping. 
A  bit  of  dry  bread  or  a  few  small  pieces  of  meat  in  the 
morning  is  all-sufficient. 


458  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

A  greyhound,  like  a  wolf,  will  pursue  his  game  best 
when  hungry;  and  even  two  days  of  abstinence  will  do  a 
dog  very  little  injury,  and  will  enable  him  to  show  almost 
phenomenal  speed  for  a  special  occasion. 

A  full  stomach  prevents  perfect  lung  action,  and  a 
greyhound  may  be  permanently  injured  by  allowing 
him  to  exert  himself  to  his  utmost,  as  an  ambitious  dog 
will,  immediately  after  a  large  meal. 

The  food  best  adapted  to  mature  dogs,  while  preparing 
them  for  field  contests,  can  be  prepared  daily  with  the 
best  results.  Prepared  food,  or  patent  biscuit,  is  subject 
to  changes  of  the  atmosphere-,  and  becomes  stale  and 
mouldy  by  age,  and  is  soon  inhabited  by  a  numerous 
family  of  insects,  and  often  does  much  injury  to  dogs  in 
training. 

An  article  that  will  best  serve  the  purpose  for  a  steady 
diet  can  be  made  as  follows: 

Boil  a  quantity  of  beef  or  mutton  in  sufficient  water 
to  make  a  rich  soup;  when  the  meat  is  well  done,  salt  a 
little,  separate  the  meat  from  the  bones,  and  cut  in  small 
fragments;  mix  with  this  equal  parts  of  old  bread,  well- 
cooked  oatmeal  and  corn-meal,  making  a  batter  about 
the  consistency  of  ordinary  corn-cake  batter;  spread  it 
quite  thin  in  a  bake-pan,  and  bake  till  quite  dry  and  hard. 

This  will  keep  for  some  time,  and  will  make  a  most 
excellent  training-food,  although  it  is  more  difficult  to 
prepare  than  ordinary  table-scraps,  meat  and  the  like,  but 
will  pay  in  the  end. 

Of  course,  a  little  judgment  should  be  used,  and  the 
dog  given  more  or  less  of  a  variety  daily. 

Vegetable  matter  is  a  necessity,  given  in  some  form, 
potatoes,  carrots,  or  beets  being  the  best. 

The  food  should  never  be  made  sloppy  for  a  greyhound 
in  training,  and  only  enough  food  given  to  keep  him  in 
good  health,  with  coat  glossy,  and  with  the  muscular 


COURSINO.  459 

system  developing  gradually,  without  showing  an  ounce 
of  excessive  adipose  tissue. 

A  raw  bone  may  be  given  twice  per  wreek.  Dogs 
seem  to  require  an  excess  of  carbonate  and  phosphate  of 
lime,  and  their  efforts  to  secure  the  meat  on  the  bone 
will  keep  the  tartar  from  forming  on  the  teeth,  and  also 
keep  the  gums  healthy. 

When  it  is  impossible  to  prepare  the  food  as  directed, 
give  carefully  selected  table-scraps. 

Whatever  the  diet  may  be,  try  and  select  food  that 
you  can  surely  supply  to  the  end  of  the  coursing  season, 
and  adhere  to  it  strictly. 

To  make  a  radical  change  two  weeks  before  a  coursing 
meeting  is  fatal  to  success.  Dogs  were  brought  to  the 
meeting  at  Great  Bend,  a  few  days  previous  to  the  meet- 
ing, that  had  been  petted  and  fed  at  home  like  one  of  the 
family,  but  hearing  of  Spratt's  biscuit  being  such  a  valu- 
able training-food,  their  owners  would  feed  them  quite 
liberally  of  the  biscuit,  hoping  to  supply  a  special  stim- 
ulus for  the  occasion;  but  what  was  their  disappoint- 
ment to  find  the  poor  creatures'  bowels  out  of  condition, 
and  quite  undone  for  a  six  days'  contest: 

We  had  other  examples,  where  young  dogs  had  been 
fed  on  the  coarsest  corn- meal  to  within  three  weeks  of  the 
meeting,  and  then  changed  to  a  diet  selected  from  the 
best  hotel-scraps;  and  although  they  were  fed  sparingly 
of  this,  they  became  "logy"  and  out  of  heart,  and  of 
course  made  a  very  sorry  showing  in  the  public  contests, 
although  they  were  quite  speedy. 

Two  meals  per  day  is  ample  for  a  dog  in  training,  but 
one  is  much  better  if  you  accustom  him  to  it  from  the 
first.  The  heartiest  meal  should  always  be  given  at 
night. 

The  quantity  of  food  for  each  dog  should  be  regulated 
as  before  stated,  and  no  two  will  require  the  same  kind 


460  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

or  amount;  and  to  throw  a  large  quantity  on  the  ground 
promiscuously,  before  a  kennel  of  dogs  in  training,  is  the 
sheerest  nonsense.  Some  will  eat  an  enormous  quantity 
in  less  time  than  we  are  telling  it,  while  others  may  take 
a  bone  and  retire  to  a  corner  and  only  secure  about  a 
mouthful.  Each  individual  dog  should  be  fed  sepa- 
rately. 

There  are  various  methods  of  giving  exercise,  but  road- 
work  is,  above  all,  absolutely  necessary.  This  may  be 
given  by  allowing  the  dog  to  follow  the  carriage  or  a 
horse  under  the  saddle.  It  is  a  favorite  method  of  the 
English  to  lead  their  greyhounds  in  the  field  for  hours 
daily.  This  is  too  laborious,  and  requires  too  much  time, 
unless  one  has  no  other  business  except  to  care  for  a 
couple  of  greyhounds;  even  then  we  believe  that,  after 
the  first  few  days,  a  walk  for  a  half-mile,  a  trot  for- a 
mile,  a  gallop  for  another  mile,  a  run  for  a  quarter,  and  a 
walk  in,  is  far  preferable. 

The  use  of  the  brush,  followed  by  a  vigorous  hand- 
rubbing,  is  invaluable,  and  should  be  employed  as  one  of 
the  most  reliable  assistants  in  fitting  up  greyhounds. 

The  principles  of  the  massage  treatment  are  quite 
applicable  in  this  case.  Roll,  pinch,  rub,  and  pat  the 
whole  body,  especially  the  shoulders,  loins,  and  hips. 
This  passive  exercise,  if  thoroughly  given,  will  take  the 
place  largely  of  field-work. 

Very  few  actual  chases  should  be  given  the  greyhound 
in  training,  and  only  enough  to  make  him  eager.  Two.  or 
at  the  utmost  three,  races  per  week  after  rabbits  is  ample 
for  any  greyhound  in  training;  for,  if  allowed  to  pursue 
game  too  frequently,  they  lose  that  eagerness  so  much 
desired  in  a  greyhound,  and  are  quite  apt  to  acquire  a 
habit  of  running  cunning,  or  waiting  behind  for  the  head 
dog  to  turn  the  rabbit,  which  they  soon  learn  will  be  done 
when  they  are  closely  pursuing  the  game. 


COUKSIXI;.  461 

Tliis  will  disqualify  any  dog  from  further  competition 
in  a  public  coursing  meeting,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  rules 
governing  coursing. 

A  greyhound  after  the  fourth  running  season  is  not 
safely  employed  in  public  coursing,  although  the  famous 
Miss  Glendyne,  of  England,  ran  her  coursing  honestly 
last  spring,  winning  the  Waterloo  purse,  although  she 
was  defeated  for  the  Waterloo  cup  by  a  three-legged 
hare  being  raised  at  her  first  course,  and  her  opponent 
did  such  vigorous  work  at  the  start,  and  caught  the  lame 
hare  so  quickly,  that  she  scarcely  got  to  her  work.  She 
divided  the  Waterloo  cup  in  1885;  won  it  in  1886. 

However,  it  is  much  safer  to  leave  the  old  ones  in  the 
kennel  when  selecting  a  brace  for  a  public  contest. 

SLIPS. 

When  taking  a  pair  of  dogs  into  the  field  for  training, 
a  pair  of  slips  is  as  necessary  as  a  harness  for  a  horse 
when  you  desire  to  drive.  The  advantage  to  a  dog  so  taught 
is  very  appreciable  in  a  close  course,  for  the  run  up  to 
the  hare  may  be  the  only  advantage  one  dog  may  have 
over  his  adversary  in  a  sharply  contested  trial. 

The  slips  are  an  ingenious  device,  so  constructed  that 
a  pair  of  dogs  are  held  together  as  though  in  a  yoke. 

The  two  straps  around  their  necks,  instead  of  being 
buckled,  are  held  by  a  spring,  as  the  dogs  stand  side  by 
side.  The  straps  are  attached  to  a  piece  of  steel  by 
swivels.  This  will  enable  the  dogs  to  turn  without  get- 
ting twisted  or  tangled  up.  A  leading-strap  is  attached 
to  one  of  the  swivels,  and  passes  back  between  the  dogs 
to  the  slipper,  or  man  who  does  the  leading.  Through 
this  round  leading-strap  runs  a  strong  string,  on  one  end 
of  which  is  fastened  a  small  iron  pin.  This  pin  holds  the 
collars  in  place  until  the  slipper  has  the  word  from  the 
judge  to  let  them  go.  He  then  pulls  the  string,  and  both 


462  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

collars  are  loosened  from  the  dogs'  necks,  and  they  are 
free  to  pursue  the  hare  untrammeled  by  anything,  and 
they  are  thereby  given  an  even  start  in  the  race. 

THE  JACK-RABBIT. 

There  is  probably  but  one  animal  that  will  call  into 
activity  all  of  the  qualities  of  the  greyhound,  and  that  is 
the  jack-rabbit;  and  he  being  such  an  important  factor  in 
coursing,  we  deem  it  essential  to  give  a  general  descrip- 
tion of  him,  for  the  benefit  of  the  many  readers  who  have 
never  seen  one  of  these  little  fleet-footed  residents  of  the 
plains. 

He  is,  undoubtedly,  the  swiftest  animal  in  the  world 
for  a  short  distance;  and  when  in  good  condition,  and  in 
training  for  being  pursued,  frequently  he  is  more  than  a 
match  for  the  swiftest  greyhound  that  ever  had  an 
existence. 

Their  habitat  is  on  the  open  prairie,  from  the  eastern 
border  of  Texas,  Kansas,  Nebraska,  and  Minnesota  to  the 
Pacific  Coast.  In  different  localities  their  size  and  color 
vary  considerably,  but  they  all  retain  their  peculiarities 
where  found.  In  Dakota  they  are  very  large,  and  are 
lighter  in  color,  and  have  a  thicker  coat. 

In  New  Mexico  and  vicinity  they  are  very  large,  but 
much  darker  in  color  than  in  Dakota  and  other  Northern 
States. 

There  are  two  varieties,  the  white-tail  and  the  black- 
tail;  and,  as  the  name  would  indicate,  the  tail  is  the  dis- 
tinguishing feature,  although  there  are  other  marked 
peculiarities  worthy  of  mention. 

The  black-tail  has  a  lighter  body  and  longer  legs,  and 
the  ears  are  tipped  with  seal-brown  for  about  an  inch. 
The  tail  much  resembles  the  common  cotton-tail  in 
form,  but  on  the  upper  surface  is  the  same  color  as 
the  tips  of  the  ears.  They  keep  it  rolled  close  to  the 


COURSING.  463 

back,  and  where  it  rests,  there  is  also  a  streak  of  dark 
brown. 

The  color  is  a  light  brown  or  gray,  very  closely 
resembling  the  dry  grass.  The  gray  color  gradually  gets 
lighter  from  the  back  to  the  under  part  of  the  body, 
where  it  is  pure  white. 

A  full-grown  jack-rabbit  will  weigh  from  eight  to 
fifteen  pounds,  the  female  being  larger  by  two  or  three 
pounds. 

The  white-tail  variety  has  shorter  legs,  a  heavier 
body,  with  a  closer  coat,  than  the  black-tail,  and  closely 
resembles  a  young  deer  in  color.  The  ears  are  shorter, 
and  tipped  with  black;  the  tail  is  pure  white,  about  four 
inches  long,  and  has  a  coat  of  hair  less  compact  than 
the  black-tail;  it  tapers  to  a  point,  and  when  running  is 
carried  straight  back.  This  variety  is  found  in  greater 
numbers  on  the  open  buffalo-grass  prairies,  and  is  often 
spoken  of  as  the  prairie  hare,  and  probably  quite  resembles 
the  English  hare  in  many  respects. 

The  jack-rabbit  never  burrows;  but  when  closely 
pressed  by  a  greyhound,  especially  when  nearly  ex- 
hausted, will  suddenly  dash  into  a  badger-hole,  or  even  a 
wolf-den,  and  not  infrequently  will  take  refuge  in  an  old 
deserted  burrow  tliat  will  scarcely  conceal  their  form  from 
view.  They  rarely  resort  to  a  thicket,  but  depend  on  speed 
and  ability  to  dodge  their  pursuers  to  effect  their  escape. 

Their  home,  or  form,  as  it  is  called,  is  a  slight  depres- 
sion in  the  ground,  under  a  tuft  of  grass.  They  back  into 
this,  and  flatten  themselves  out,  with  ears  laid  close  to 
their  backs,  only  about  half  of  the  body  being  exposed. 
With  the  grass  blowing  over  them,  and  with  the  color  so 
nearly  the  same  hue,  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  see  them 
when  not  more  than  six  feet  away.  They  remain  at 
home  during  the  day,  but  are  on  foot  as  soon  as  the 
shades  of  night  appear.  Not  infrequently  they  are  found 


464  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

on  a  plowed  field,  or  stubble;  but  even  here,  where  one 
would  naturally  expect  to  see  them  exposed,  they  have 
the  faculty  of  affiliating  so  closely  with  mother  earth 
that  they  are  not  seen  until  they  rise,  like  a  phantom,  and 
glide  away.  Their  coat  of  hair  is  of  that  texture  that 
enables  them  to  stand  the  severest  cold  or  the  scorching 
rays  of  a  southern  sun. 

The  young  are  brought  into  the  world  with  a  full  coat 
of  hair,  and  eyes  open,  and  are  soon  jumping  about. 
They  are  quite  different  from  the  cotton-tail  in  this 
respect,  which  are  born  hairless,  and  remain  in  the  nest 
for  about  a  week. 

The  natural  enemies  of  the  jack-rabbit  are  the  wolf 
and  hawk.  When  raised  from  his  form,  and  if  not 
closely  pressed,  he  will  go  away  with  a  sort  of  hop-step- 
and-jump,  with  ears  erect,  and  will  delude  a  novice  with 
the  impression  that  he  is  crippled.  If  carefully  observed', 
it  will  be  seen  that  they  have  the  two  hind  legs  close 
together,  and  use  them  as  one.  As  they  hop  away,  they 
change  from  side  to  side  in  a  very  defiant  way,  now  and 
then  making  a  long,  high  jump.  These  tactics  are  kept 
up  for  some  time  if  pursued  by  a  common  cur  dog;  but 
turn  a  greyhound  loose  in  the  wake  of  a  jack-rabbit,  and 
he  will  find  that  there  is  a  force  in  nature  hitherto 
unknown  to  him,  and  he  unfurls  his  legs,  drops  his  ears 
close  to  his  body,  and  you  can  only  see  a  streak  of  jack- 
rabbit  half  a  mile  long.  When  caught  by  a  greyhound, 
they  are  killed  almost  as  quickly  as  though  shot  by  a  rifle  - 
ball,  and  for  this  reason  all  the  elements  of  cruelty  are 
abolished  in  coursing.  He  is  a  prolific  breeder,  and  will 
probably  never  become  extinct,  and  we  can  be  assured  of 
always  having  a  supply  on  which  to  try  our  greyhounds. 

The  method  of  competition,  or  the  manner  of  contest- 
ing the  speed  of  two  greyhounds,  will  now  be  considered. 
The  dogs  are  drawn  by  lot,  and  in  pairs,  and  an  expert- 


COURSING.  465 

enced  man,  called  a  slipper,  is  selected  to  handle  the 
dogs  while  in  the  field.  One  dog  wears  a  red  collar  and 
the  other  a  white,  made  of  flannel  cloth,  one  light  thick- 
ness, for  the  purpose  of  enabling  the  judge  to  distinguish 
the  dogs  while  running.  This  is  necessary  if  the  two 
dogs  are  of  the  same  color.  When  starting  to  a  course, 
a  long  line  of  beaters — ladies  and  gentlemen  on  horse- 
back— is  thrown  out,  in  the  shape  of  a  crescent.  The 
dogs,  led  by  the  slipper,  are  in  front,  and  the  judge  close 
by.  The  spectators  are  permitted  to  follow  close  in  the 
wake  of  the  beaters.  It  is  a  grand  sight  to  see  such  a 
cavalcade  marching  over  the  smooth  prairie,  there  having 
been  at  least  3,000  people  in  attendance  at  the  meeting,  in 
1888,  of  the  American  Coursing  Club,  at  Great  Bend, 
Kan.,  where  the  meetings  are  held. 

The  crescent  form  in  which  the  beaters  move  is  for 
the  purpose  of  forcing  the  rabbit  to  the  center,  and  before 
the  dogs. 

As  he  jumps  from  his  form,  the  slipper  attracts  the 
attention  of  the  dogs  to  him  by  some  exclamation,  and, 
as  they  take  sight,  they  dash  for  him  with  such  force  as 
to  nearly  upset  the  slipper;  and  when  the  rabbit  is  about 
eighty  yards  away,  the  word  is  given  by  the  judge,  the 
slipper  pulls  the  string,  the  collars  are  loosened  from 
their  necks,  and  away  they  go.  Such  a  long  lead  gives 
the  greyhounds  an  opportunity  to  display  their  speed, 
and  affords  the  rabbit  a  chance  to  escape;  and  not  infre- 
quently he  takes  advantage  of  this  kindly  offer,  and  never 
lets  the  greyhounds  reach  him,  and  escapes  in  tall  grass 
or  weeds  A  race  is  decided  on  the  principle  that  the 
dog  showing  the  greatest  speed  and  ability  to  turn  the 
quickest  is  the  superior  greyhound,  and  necessarily  does 
more  toward  catching  the  hare,  although  he  may  not  kill 
him ;  and  in  order  to  estimate  their  relative  value,  the 
work  done  is  counted  by 

30 


466  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

POINTS. 

Speed  is  valued  at  one,  two,  or  three  points,  and  depends 
on  the  degree  of  superiority  shown;  but  speed  alone  is 
not  sufficient  to  decide  a  race,  unless  subsequent  work  is 
done,  except  in  a  very  long  race  to  covert. 

The  go-by  is  where  one  dog,  at  any  stage  of  the  race, 
starts  a  length  behind  his  adversary  and  runs  by  him, 
and  gets  a  -length  in  the  lead;  for  this  he  is  given  two 
points,  or,  if  they  are  running  on  a  large  circle,  and  he 
passes  him  on  the  outside,  he  is  counted  three 
points. 

The  turn  is  where  the  rabbit  is  so  closely  pressed  that 
he  turns  at  a  right  angle;  for  this  the  dog  making  the 
turn  is  scored  one  point. 

The  wrench  is  where  the  rabbit  is  turned  slightly 
from  a  straight  line,  but  at  less  than  a  right  angle,  and 
still  keeps  the  same  direction;  for  this  the  greyhound  is 
counted  a  half  point. 

The  trip  is  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  hold  a  rabbit, 
although  the  greyhound  may  touch  him,  or  even  tumble 
him,  and  counts  one  point. 

The  kill  is  counted  two  points,  one  or  nothing.  If  he 
is  caught  by  a  greyhound  while  running  straight  away, 
the  highest  count  is  given;  but  should  one  dog  pick  him 
up  as  the  foremost  greyhound  turns  him  back,  he  is  not 
allowed  anything. 

Those  not  conversant  with  the  rules  of  coursing  are 
quite  apt  to  give  all  credit  to  the  dog  that  catches  the 
rabbit;  and  the  greyhound  that  has  done  all  the  work, 
and  even  turns  the  rabbit  into  his  mouth,  is  given  no 
credit  whatever. 

These  points  can  be  repeated  an  unlimited  number  of 
%  times  in  one  race,  and  it  keeps  the  judge  on  his  mettle  to 
keep  the  counts,  as  they  are  rapidly  repeated. 


COURSESTG.  467 

One  very  important  point  in  the  rules,  that  is  often 
overlooked,  is  that  after  six  successive  points  have  been 
made,  the  greyhound  making  them  is  counted  double 
for  every  point  made  after  the  six  until  the  other  dog 
scores. 

No  allowance  is  made  for  an  injury  to  a  greyhound, 
except  he  be  ridden  over  by  the  owner  of  the  opposing 
greyhound. 

There  can  be  but  little  jockeying  in  coursing,  as  the 
dogs  are  free,  and  will  do  their  utmost  to  kill  the  hare; 
and  for  this  reason  the  element  of  fairness  enters  largely 
into  this  style  of  competition.  Coursing  proper  is  an 
open  field  pastime,  and  the  rabbits  are  free,  and  are 
frightened  from,  their  resting-place;  and  they  flee  for 
safety,  and  are  only  limited  by  the  face  of  the  earth.  But 
another  method,  called  inclosed  park  coursing,  has  been 
instituted,  whereby  the  chase  is  confined  to  an  inclosure, 
and  the  rabbits  are  captured,  and  confined  to  a  space 
varying  from  100  acres  to  several  sections.  They  are 
kept  in  bounds  by  a  closely  woven  wire  fence.  They  are 
allowed  their  liberty  until  such  time  as  they  are  required 
for  testing  the  speed  of  the  greyhounds;  they  are  then 
driven  into  a  corral,  and  are  let  out  one  at  a  time  for 
the  races. 

The  race-track  is  usually  a  narrow  space  of  100  to  200 
yards  in  width,  and  from  one-half  to -a  mile  long.  At 
the  end  of  the  track,  there  is  an  escape  for  the  rabbit 
through  a  high  board  fence;  so  if  the  greyhound  is 
unable  to  catch  him  in  this  distance,  he  is  free.  They  are 
run  over  this  track  to  the  escape  very  frequently  previous 
to  a  formal  competition;  and  when  an  old  rabbit  is 
in  good  training,  a  greyhound  stands  very  little  show  of 
catching  him.  A  grand  stand  is  erected  on  each  side  of 
the  track,  and  the  spectators  are  afforded  a  grand  view  of 
the  race  from  start  to  finish. 


468  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

Inclosed  park  coursing  is  not  an  experiment,  as  the 
sport  has  been  in  vogue  for  a  number  of  years  in  England, 
Australia,  and  in  California. 

At  Hutchinson,  Kan.,  a,  model  park  has  been  com- 
pleted within  the  past  year,  and  arrangements  have  been 
made  for  a  large  meeting  annually. 

There  is  a  growing  popularity  for  the  park  coursing, 
and  we  will  undoubtedly  see  parks  established  near  many 
of  the  Eastern  cities. 

The  American  Coursing  Club  meeting  at  Great  Bend, 
Kan.,  is  the  national  and  grand  meeting  of  this  country, 
and  will  compare  favorably  with  the  great  Waterloo  meet- 
ing at  Altcar,  England.  The  meeting  is  held  in  an  open 
field,  or  on  a  large  ranch,  comprising  about  seventeen  sec- 
tions in  a  body.  It  is  situated  on  a  vast  plain,  called  the 
Cheyenne  Plains,  and  is  as  level  as  ground  can  be,  afford- 
ing a  grand  view  for  a  mile.  The  jack-rabbits  have  always 
found  this  well  suited  to  their  wants,  and  recently  have 
been  well  protected  from  hunters  and  dogs,  and  are  in  no 
sense  artificially  prepared  for  the  trials,  bat  are  hunted 
in  their  natural  state.  They  often  flee  to  the  elevated 
ground,  three  miles  from  the  center  of  the  plains,  and 
escape  their  pursuers,  the  swift  greyhounds. 

At  9  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  pleasant  October  day, 
the  beaters  are  in  line,  and  a  long  train  of  carriages  are 
close  in  the  rear;  and  as  they  march  across  the  level 
stretch  of  country,  with  every  mind  centered  on  the  one 
object  that  will  cause  the  blood  to  tingle  in  the  veins,  the 
cry  is  given,  "  There  he  goes!"  and  a  long  pair  of  ears 
rises  like  a  phantom,  and  speeds  away,  challenging  the 
dogs  for  a  trial  of  speed. 

The  quick-sighted  greyhounds  in  an  instant  jump  to 
the  limit  of  the  slips,  and  the  slipper  races  away  with 
them  for  a  few  feet,  and  then  the  word  is  given  by  the 
judge;  the  cord  is  pulled,  and  away  they  go  like  a  rocket, 


(469) 


470  UPLAND   SHOOTING. 

with  the  judge,  reporters,  and  owners  of  the  greyhounds 
close  in  the  rear,  while  the  spectators  halt  to  view  the 
race.  There  are  only  two  greyhounds  in  the  race  at  one 
time,  and  they  are  easily  distinguished  at  a  distance; 
and  as  the  favorite  leads  up,  the  excitement  begins.  The 
red  collar  has  turned  the  rabbit,  with  the  white  collar  only 
a  jump  behind;  and  as  he  makes  an  unsuccessful  effort  to 
catch,  bunny  jumps  nimbly  to  one  side,  and  the  grey- 
hounds go  on  for  a  few  feet,  and  while  they  are  trying  to 
regain  their  stride  the  jack-rabbit  has  gained  on  his  pur- 
suers, and  away  he  speeds  for  safety.  The  dogs  turn, 
catch  sight  of  the  fleeing  game,  and  quickly  settle 
down  for  another  dash.  The  red  is  again  in  the  lead, 
but  the  white  is  just  getting  to  his  work,  and  gradually 
draws  up  to  his  antagonist;  is  now  at  his  flank,  now  shows 
a  head  in  the  lead,  and  in  another  moment  is  a  full 
length  in  the  lead.  "  A  go-by!  a  go-by!"  is  shouted  from 
hundreds  of  throats,  and  the  white  scores  two  points. 
He  is  now  at  the  rabbit,  and  another  turn  is  made.  The 
gamy  red  is  handy  by,  and  before  the  rabbit  fairly  gains 
his  stride,  he  is  forced  to  the  tactics  of  jumping  from 
side  to  side  to  avoid  his  stroke,  and  six  wrenches  are 
made. 

The  wrenches  allow  the  white  dog  to  draw  up,  and  he 
being  but  a  point  ahead,  the  interest  deepens. 

Away  they  stride,  like  a  double  team,  for  nearly  a- 
quarter,  with  no  appreciable  advantage  to  either.  The 
pace  is  too  hot  for  bunny,  and  gradually  they  draw  up, 
and  a  turn  is  made — another  and  another  in  quick  succes- 
sion. The  red  dog  makes  a  terrific  dash  to  catch,  but 
only  trips,  loses  his  footing,  and  over  and  over  he  goes, 
but  is  up  again  without  injury,  and  is  soon  taking  part 
in  the  exchanges;  but  the  white,  seemingly  cogniz- 
ant of  the  fact  that  he  has  two  points  to  make  up, 
exerts  himself  to  the  utmost,  and,  with  a  most  phenom- 


COURSIXG.  471 

enal  burst  of  speed,  makes  a  straight  go-by  and  kills  the 
rabbit.  Up  goes  the  white  flag,  and  the  wearer  of  the 
white  collar  is  the  winner  by  four  points;  and  the  judge 
hears  the  shouts  from  the  spectators  a  mile  away. 

He  dismounts  to  give  his  panting  steed  a  moment's 
rest,  and  secures  the  game  as  the  owners  of  the  dogs 
hasten  up  to  relieve  their  thirst  from  a  well-filled  flask  of 
pure  water. 

As  the  dogs  are  secured,  another  brace  is  placed  in  the 
slips,  and  race  follows  race  in  quick  succession.  About 
twelve  races  are  run  in  a  day,  or  more  if  the  rabbits  are 
plentiful,  and  this  is  kept  up  for  six  successive  days.  In 
a  sixty-four-dog  stake,  there  will  necessarily  be  thirty- 
two  pairs  the  first  round,  and  thirty-two  winners;  six- 
teen pairs  in  the  second,  eight  in  the  third,  four  in  the 
fourth,  and  two  in  the  last  round,  leaving  one  grey- 
hound winner  over  all.  He  will  necessarily  run  six  races 
in  as  many  days;  but  frequently,  at  the  close,  he  may  be 
obliged  to  run  two  races  in  one  day.  The  dog  last  run- 
ning with  the  winner  is  called  the  runner  up,  because  he 
ran  through  the  races  up  to  the  last  race  without  being 
defeated  once. 

To  judge  the  races  successfully,  it  requires  a  swift  and 
level-headed  horse,  a  fearless  rider,  with  quick  perception 
and  staunchness,  and  thoroughly  conversant  with  the 
rules. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  keep  with  the  dogs;  but  the 
frequent  turns  enable  the  judge  to  cut  corners,  and  in  this 
manner  is  kept  in  sight.  Not  infrequently  a  badger-hole 
suddenly  appears,  and  as  the  horse  attempts  to  avoid 
it,  he  loses  his  footing,  and  a  header  is  taken  that  dis- 
turbs the  judge's  anatomy  not  a  little;  but  no  serious 
accident  has  befallen  anyone  in  three  yearly  meetings, 
although  several  have  been  thrown  from  their  horses 
with  considerable  violence. 


472  UPLAND    SHOOTING. 

The  old  style  of  coursing  is  perhaps  the  most  enjoya- 
ble, it  being  in  the  nature  of  a  wild,  free  gallop  over  the 
smooth,  level  prairie,  after  a  pack  of,  say  twelve,  grey- 
hounds, uncoupled  and  free. 

A  private  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  mounted  on 
ponies,  meet  in  the  suburbs  of  some  small  city  or  village, 
and  by  a  ride  of  three  miles  are  on  good  running-grounds, 
where  the  rabbits  are  numerous;  and,  after  read  justing  the 
saddle-fastenings,  the  hunt  begins.  They  have  scarcely 
formed  in  line  before  a  rabbit  is  raised,  and  away  go 
dogs,  and  riders  at  their  heels,  yelling  like  a  band  of 
Indians  on  the  war-path,  and  often  with  the  ladies  in  the 
lead  riding  like  mad. 

The  lady  first  in  at  the  death  secures  the  "brush," 
which  in  this  instance  consists  of  a  pair  of  long  ears. 

Several  rabbits  are  usually  caught  in  a  half-day1  s  hunt, 
and  all  return  brightened  in  spirits,  and  with  appetites 
sharpened  to  a  keen  edge. 

Wolf  or  coyote  hunting  is  similar  to  rabbit  coursing, 
and  is  indulged  in  quite  as  frequently,  only  it  differs 
somewhat  in  the  wind-up,  there  being  a  fierce  fight 
between  dogs  and  wolf  before  the  despoiler  of  the  hen- 
roosts is  finally  dispatched. 

It  is  difficult  to  make  a  close  start  on  the  coyote,  and 
a  long,  hard  ride  straight  away  for  five  miles,  over  more 
or  less  rough  country,  across  streams,  through  corn-fields 
and  hedges,  is  expected,  giving  one  a  rare  opportunity  of 
displaying  good  horsemanship.  It  is  wonderfully  exhila- 
rating, and  after  once  being  enjoyed,  leaves  a  strong 
desire  for  a  repetition  of  the  pleasure. 

Antelope  coursing  with  greyhounds  is  usually  attended 
with  considerable  danger  to  both  dogs  and  horses,  as  the 
race  is  a  long,  straight-away  run  for  miles  on  the  open 
prairie,  without  a  turn. 

The  antelope  being  very  keen  of  sight,  is  difficult  to 


COUKSIXG.  473 

approach,  and  will  scarcely  allow  a  party  to  get  nearer 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  They  run  in  a  wide  circle,  and 
the  dogs  have  a  long,  stern  chase  to  reach  them. 

Often  the  hunter  can,  by  strategy,  approach  to  within 
100  yards,  by  making  a  detour,  and  coming  upon  them 
from  behind  a  slight  elevation  on  the  prairie;  and  by 
this  means  the  greyhound  can  make  a  sudden  dash, 
and  secure  an  antelope  before  he  fairly  gets  his  stride. 
They  seize  them  by  the  ham-strings,  and  throw  them  to 
the  ground,  and  then  take  the  throat. 

The  greyhound  is  frequently  killed  by  the  excessive 
and  long-continued  exertion  and  heat. 

Although  the  sport  of  coursing  originated  in  England, 
it  appeals  strongly  to  our  American  tastes.  It  is  attended 
with  just  enough  of  the  spirit  of  competition,  gives  a 
grand  display  of  speed,  showing  the  greyhound  in  his 
true  element,  and  partakes  of  a  spice  of  adventure,  and 
shows  a  graceful  rider  to  the  best  advantage,  and  is  free 
from  cruelty. 

As  this  delightful  pastime  is  better  understood,  and 
the  aristocrat  among  dogs  is  more  generally  appreciated, 
and  truly  his  day  is  approaching,  it  will  surpass  in 
interest  all  other  out-door  sports,  and  the  greyhound  will 
be  placed  in  the  front  ranks  of  the  great  canine  family. 

"  Yet  if  for  sylvan  sport  thy  bosom  glow, 
Let  thy  fleet  greyhound  urge  his  flying  foe. 
"With  what  delight  the  rapid  course  I  view! 
How  does  my  eye  the  circling  race  pursue! 
He  snaps  deceitful  air  with  empty  jaws; 
The  subtle  hare  darts  swift  beneath  his  paws. 
She  flys;  he  stretches  now  with  nimble  bound; 
Eager  he  presses  on,  but  overshoots  his  ground. 
She  turns;  he  winds,  and  soon  regains  the  way, 
Then  tears  with  gory  mouth  the  screaming  prey." 


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St     HHTUtl-IN     L-ISZT 


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who  yet  retain  any  prejudice  against  reed  organs,  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  to  test 
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Liszt  Organ  Library,  published  by  Mr.  Arthur  P.  Schmidt,  of  Boston,  and  for  sale  at 
warerooms  of  the  Company. 

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excellence  in  any  musical  instrument,  quality  of  tone.  Other  things,  though  important,  are 
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WILD  FOWL  SHOOTING 

BY 

WILLIAM  BRUCE  LEFFINGWELL. 


TREATS    OF 

Guns,  Decoys,  Blinds,  Boats,  &  Retrievers, 

FOR    WILD    FOWLING. 


This  Book  has  never  Received  an  Adverse  Criticism. 

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Endorsed  by  Every  Prominent  Sportsman  and  Sporting  Paper  in  America. 

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Frank  Forester  has  the  reputation  of  having  been  the  best  writer  on  field  sports  we 
ever  had,  but  he  never  wrote  a  work  of  such  enduring  merit  as  this.  I  consider  it  the  best 
book  on  field  sports  ever  written. 

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Breeder  and  Sportsman;  Spoi'ts  Afield;  Sporting  Goods  Gazette;  Charles  W. 
Budd;  James  R.  Stice;  H.  McMurchy,  and  hundreds  of  others,  endorse  it  as  tlie 
best  work  on  the  subject  extant. 

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OF 


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Its    Habits,    Habitat,    Haunts,    and.    Char- 
acteristics.     Howr,   Wrien,   and. 
\Vriere  to   Hunt   It. 


FOR  THE  SPORTSMAN  AID  THE  NATURALIST, 


EDITED  BY 


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Author  of  "CRUISINGS  IN  THE  CASCADES,"  "RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES,"  "HUNTING  IN 

THE  GREAT  WEST,"  "THE  BATTLE  OP  THB  BIG  HOLE,"  "CAMPING 

AND  CAMP  OUTFITS,"  etc. 


8vo,  600  Pages,  80  Illustrations,    Cloth,  $4,00;  Half  Calf,  $5,00, 


OOlNTTElsTTS. 


Introduction,  by  the  Honorable  John  Dean 
Caton,  author  of  "The  Antelope  and  Deer  of 
America,"  etc. 

Moose  Hunting  In  the  Rocky  Mountains,  by 
Newton  Hlbbs  ("Koxey  Newton"). 


The  Buffalo,  by  Orln  Belknap  ("  Uncle  Fuller"). 
he  Musk  Ox,  by  H.  Blerdebi 
Arctic  Expedition. 


, 
The  Musk  Ox,  by  H.  Blerdebick,  of  the  Greeley 


gonquln  ")  and  Dr.  B.  B.  Cantrell. 
The     Mule     Deer,    by    Rev.    Joshua    Cook 

("Boone"). 
The  Mule  Deer  of  Southern  California,  by  T.  S. 

VanDyke,  author  of  "The  Still  Hunter,"  etc. 
The  Columbia  Black-tall  Deer,  by  Thomas  G. 

Farrell. 
The  Virginia  Deer,  by  Walter  M.  "Wolfe  ("  Sho- 

shone"). 

A  Deer  Hunt  (Poem) by  "Wah-bah-ml-ml." 

Hunting  the  Grizzly  Bear,  by  Rev.  Dr.  W.  S. 

Ralnsford. 
The  Polar  Bear,  by  Sergt.  Francis  Long,  of  the 

Greeley  Arctic  Expedition,  and  George  S. 

McTavish,  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company. 

A  Polar  Bear  Hunt 

The  Black  Bear by  Col.  Geo.  D.Alexander. 

The  Honorable  John  Dean  Caton,  the  eminent  naturalist  and  jurist,  author  of  "  The  Ante- 
lope and  Deer  of  America,"  etc.,  says  of  this  work:  "It  is,  without  exception,  the  most 
elaborate,  comprehensive,  and  valuable  treatise  on  our  Big  Game  Animals  that  has  ever 
been  published." 

This  book  will  be  mailed,  post  paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by 

RAND,    McNALLY    &   CO., 

162  to  172  Adams  St.,  CHICAGO. 


Still-hunting  the  Antelope,  by  Arthur  W.  du 

Bray  ("Gaucho"). 
Coursing  the  Antelope  .........  by  M.  E.  Allison. 

The  Death  of  Venus  (Poem).  .  .  .by  Wm.  P.  Lett. 

The  Rocky  Mountain  Goat  —  by  John  Fannin. 
The  Rocky  Mountain  Sheep,  by  G.  O.  Shields 

("Coqulna"). 
The  Peccary  .....................  by  A.  G.  Requa. 

The  Cougar,  or  Mountain  Lion,  by  W.  A.  Perry 

("Sillallcum"). 
The  Lynx  .......................  by  J.  C.  Nattrass. 

The  Wolf  .......................  by  Wm.  P.Lett. 

The  Wolverine..  by  C.  A.  Cooper  ("Sibyllene"). 
The  Wild  Cat,  by  Daniel  Arrowsmlth  ("San- 

gamon"). 
Coon  Hunting  in  Southern  Illinois,  by  Daniel 

Arrowsmlth  ("Sangamon"). 
Fox  Hunting  In  Virginia..  ..by  Dr.  M.  G.Ellzey. 
Alligator  Shooting  In  Florida,  by  Cyrus  W. 

Butler. 
The  Ethics  of  Field  Sports,  by  Wm.  B.  Lefflng- 

well. 


A  Sporting  Library  in  Two  Volumes. 

WiLDWooo's  MAGAZINE 

AN    ILLUSTRATED    MONTHLY    OF    OUT-DOOR    RECREATION. 


MAY,  1  888,  TO  JUNE,  1  889.    COMPLETE  FILE,  $2. 

^Partial  List  of  Contents. 

ANGLI  NG. 

American  Game  Fish  and  Fishing.  Illustrated.  Chapters  on  Salmon,  Brook  Trout, 
Black  Bass,  Grayling,  Muskallonge,  etc.  By  the  best  authorities—  Dr.  Henshall,  Charles 
Hallock,  W.  David  Tomlin.  J.  Harrington  Keene,  S.  C.  Clarke,  and  others.  Daniel  Webster 
as  an  Angler,  by  Hon.  Charles  Lanman;  Fishing  in  the  Gogebic  and  Eagle  Waters,  by 
Piscator,  Jr.  ;  Pleasures  of  Angling,  by  Harry  Fenwood  ;  Fishing  Near  Chicago  Fifty  Years 
Ago,  by  S.  C.  C.;  Trout  Fishing  in  the  Gunnison,  by  Calumet;  Florida  Fishing,  by  John 
Mortimer  Murphy;  Rod  and  Tackle  Making;  Recollections  of  Angling  at  Pelee  Island,  by 
Alex.  Starbuck;  "Sport  Among  the  Spartans;  William  Elliott,  the  Devil  Fisher,  by  Hon. 
Charles  Lanman,  etc. 

ADVE  NTU  RE. 

The  Land  of  the  Dakotahs,  by  Gen.  H.  H.  Sibley;  Anecdote  of  Frank  Forester,  by  Xed 
Buntline;  How  Old  Jim  Killed  the  Tiger,  by  H.  C.  B.:  Old  Brick  and  the  Annie  Glade 
Alligator,  by  Jacob  Staff;  Sketches  of  the  Olden  Time,  by  Gen.  H.  H.  Sibley;  Pummeling  a 
Puma,  by  J.  M.  Murphy,  etc. 

BIOGRAPHY. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Ned  Buntline  (nine  chapters)  ,  by  Will  Wildwood;  Memoirs  and 
Portraits  of  Gen.  H.  H.  Sibley,  Henry  Wm  Herbert  ("Frank  Forester"),  Col.  Thomas  B. 
Thorpe,  Col.  E.  Z.  C.  Judson  (  "  Ned  Buntline  "  ),  Chas.  Fenno  Hoffman,  John  Harrington 
Keene.  Charles  Astor  Bristed  (  "  Carl  Benson  "  V,  Hon.  Robert  B.  Roosevelt,  "  Morgan 
Herbert,"  W.  B.  Leffingwell,  Seth  Green,  Geo.  W.  Peck,  Dr.  J.  A.  Henshall,  and  Charles 
Hallock. 

HUNTI  NG. 

Bear  Hunting  in  Russia,  by  Dr.  Otto  Moebes;  A  Florida  Coon  Hunt,  by  J.  M.  Murphy; 
A  Southern  Fox  Hunt,  by  Susan  de  Vere:  Hunting  the  Black  Tail  Deer,  by  Wakeman 
Holberton  ;  Hunting  the  Raccoon,  by  a  Woodsman,  etc. 

KENNEL. 

The  Modern  Pointer,  by  Bernard  Waters;  English  Setter,  by  "Kingrail;"  Irish  Setter, 
by  "Mont  Clare:'1  Gordon  Setter,  by  Harry  Malcolm;  English  Beagle,  by  "Pious  H.;" 
Clumber  Spaniels,  by  "Clumber;"  Coursing  in  America,  by  Bernard  Waters;  A  Plea  for 
Carlo,  by  Eleanor  Harlowe;  Modern  Coursing,  by  H.  W.  Huntington,  etc. 

SHOOTI  NG. 

Sculling  for  Mallards,  by  W.  B.  Leffingwell;  Prairie  Chicken  Shooting,  by  Rambler; 
Florida  Field  Sports,  by  John  Mortimer  Murphy;  Reminiscences  of  Virginia  Sports,  by 
James  Norris;  My  First  Day's  Snipe  Shooting  at  Cambridge,  by  Frank  Forester,  etc. 

TRAVEL. 

A  Glimpse  of  Southern  California,  by  Emma  J.  C.  Davis;  Visit  to  a  Model  Club  House, 
by  Ringwcod;  An  Outing  in  Iowa,  by  Piscator,  Jr.  ;  Florida  Scenery,  by  J.  K  ;  Scene  on  the 
Allegheny  Mountains,  by  Ella  Phelan,  etc. 

M  ISC  E  LLAN  EOUS. 

Ancient  and  Modern  Archery;  Sport  of  Falconry,  by  Sylvanus:  Virginia  Deer,  by 
Paul  Pastnor;  A  Sport  History  of  Polo,  by  Morgan  Herbert;  Corinthian  Yachting,  by  T. 
Robinson  Warren;  Dells  of  the  Wisconsin  River,  by  Paul  H.  Lear:  Polo  in  America,  by 
Polonius;  Our  First  American  Sporting  Magazine,  by  Antiquarian;  The  Giant's  Causeway, 
by  J.  Kost;  Tobogganing  as  a  Pastime,  etc. 

VERSE. 

The  two  volumes  contain  many  beautiful  poems  by  Isaac  McLellan,  Libbie  C.  Baer, 
Emma  J.  C.  Davis,  Paul  H.  Lear,  R.  B.  Williams,  Mrs.  H.  O.  Brown,  and  others. 


Two  Volumes,  finely  Illustrated,  600  Pages,  $2.00  Postpaid,    Single  Copies,  20  Cents. 

N.  B.—  The  early  numbers  of  this  bright  magazine  are  becoming  scarce,  and  or 
ould  be  sent  promptly  to  secure  full  sets.    Address 

SPORTSMAN'S  BOOK  EXCHANGE, 


FOLIO    OK 


American  Sporting  Scenes 

FROM  ORIGINAL  PAINTING,  BY  J.  B.  SWORD. 


This  superior  work  will  appeal  not  only  to  the  sports- 
man, but  to  all  lovers  of  the  beautiful  and  picturesque  in 
nature.  The  scenes  are  laid  in  various  parts  of  America, 
from  the  mountainous  regions  of  New  England  to  the 
everglades  of  Florida;  from  the  prairies  of  the  West  to 
the  seaboard  of  the  Atlantic.  These  reproductions  are 
remarkable  for  their  artistic  and  picturesque  qualities, 
preserving  all  the  tone  and  even  the  brush-marks  of  the 
originals.  They  are  12  x  20  inches,  on  paper  22  x  30 
inches,  and  finished  in  the  highest  style  of  the  art,  giving 
a  folio  that  will  be  a  strong  feature  in  any  collection. 
The  edition  is  limited"  to  500  sets,  which  are  sold  for  $25 
per  set.  Most  of  the  edition  has  already  been  sold,  and 
there  will  be  no  more  when  the  balance  are  disposed  of. 
The  following  is  a  list  of  the  plates: 

I— Retriever.  2— Game.  3— Quail  Shooting. 

4 — Prairie  Chicken  Shooting.  5— Florida  Snipe  Shooting. 

6— Rail  Shooting.  7— Woodcock  Shooting.  8— Duck  Shooting. 

9— Ruffed  Grouse  Shooting.  10— Beach  Bird  Shooting. 

FOR    INFORMATION,    ADDRESS 

J.  B.  SWORD,  1520  Chestnut  Street, 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


The  illustrations  on  pages  45,  05,  129,  155,  and  295,  in  the  Book,  are 
copies  from  some  of  the  folio  pictures. 


Southern  Pacific 


COMPANY'S  LINES 


COMPRISE    THE 


SUNSET       ROUTE,    Via  New  Orleans  to 
TEXHS,  MEXICO,  HRIZONH,  CHLIFORNIH; 

CENTRAL    ROUTE,  v«  <><**"  "> 

NEi^HDH,  CHLIFORNIH,  OREGON; 

AND   THE 

SHASTA       ROUTE,    Via  Portland  to 
OREGON,  CHLIFORNIH; 

Thus  offering  the  Merchant,  Tourist,  Health-Seeker,  and  Sportsman  a 
choice  of  three  routes  to  California  and  Oregon. 


Specially  low  round-trip  tickets  are  on  sale  from  all  principal  stations 
to  California  and  Oregon,  good  to  return  any  time  within  six  months,  with 
sixty  days'  limit  going,  and  permitting  a  variation  in  the  return  route. 

Round-trip  tickets  are  also  on  sale  to  Texas,  Mexico,  and  Arizona 
points. 

Through  Pullman  Buffet,  and  Pullman  Tourist  Sleeping  Car  Service, 
quick  time,  and  courteous  treatment,  are  the  features  of  this  Company 

We  have  on  hand,  for  free  distribution,  pamphlets  descriptive  and 
illustrative  of   this  Company's  lines,  and  of  California,  and    also    land 
books,  maps,  and  time  tables,  which  we  shall  be  pleased  to  furnish  to 
any  upon  application  to  the  undersigned. 
W.  C.  WATSON,  T.  H.  GOODMAN, 

GEN'L  PASS-R  AND  TICKET  ACT.,  GEN-L  PASSER  AND  TICKET  ACT., 

NEW   ORLEANS.  SAN    FRANCISCO. 

RICHARD    GRAY,   GEN-L  TRAFFIC  MANAGER,  SAN    FRANCISCO. 

OR  TO 
E.  HAWLEY,  GEN'L  EASTN  ACT.,  W.  G.  NEIMYER,  GEN-L  WEST-N  ACT., 

343  BRC\DWAY,  N.  Y.  204.  CLARK  ST.,  CHICAGO. 


HOME  OF  THE  WILD  FOWL 


Scene  at  Cedar  Lake,  Ind.,  one 

of  the  charming  Hunting  and 

Pleasure  Resorts  on  the  fine  of  the 


MONON  ROUTE) 


For  pamphlets  and  folders  with  information  descriptive  of  the  many  pleasant  Hunting 
and  Sanitarium  Resorts,  etc.,  call  on  or  address  any  agent  of  the  Monon  Route. 

\V.  H.  McDoEL,  Traffic  Manager,  JAMES  BARKER,  General  Passenger  Agent, 

GENERAL   OFFICES,        MONON"    BUILDING    CHICAGO. 


MAPS  AND  GUIDES 

TO    ALL,    OP    THE 

PRINCIPAL   CITIES 


Every  Country  in  the  World, 

Globes,   Map  Racks,  Spring  Map   Rollers,   Wall    and    Pocket 

Maps,    Historical    Maps;    Classical,  Biblical,  Historical, 

Anatomical,  Astronomical,  Physical,  and  General 

Atlases   of  all    kinds   kept   in   Stock. 

ADDRESS    RAND,    McNALLY   &,  CO., 

MAP    PUBLISHERS    AND    ENGRAVERS, 

162   to    172    Adams   Street,   CHICAGO. 


Qreat  l^ailu/ay 


BETWEEN 


CHICAGO, 
TOLEDO, 
CLEVELAND, 


BUFFALO, 
NEW  YORK, 
BOSTON, 

AND     ALL 
EHSTERN  POINTS. 


SELECTED  BY  THE  GOVERNMENT 


On  account  of  its  superior  facilities  for  prompt 
and  reliable  service,  to  run 


THE 


F^KST 


This    is   also  the    route   of  the 


Chicago  &  New  York  Limited 

(WAGNER    VESTIBULE.) 

Patrons  of  this  train  have  at  their  disposal,  luxuriously  furnished 
apartments,  single  or  en  suite,  with  hot  and  cold  water,  gas,  bath-room, 
electric  call-bells,  a  well-stocked  library,  barber  shop,  in  fact,  nothing  has 
been  omitted  that  would  promote  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  the 
traveler.  For  full  information  regarding  this  and  other  trains  via  "The 
Laie  Shore  Route,"  apply  to  representatives  named  below. 


Durii)<5  ttye  Summer  /T^OQtys  Jourist 
are  09  Sale  via  tfyis  I^oute 

To  all  the  Mountain  and  Seaside  Resorts  of  the  East,  a  full 

list  of  which,  with  rates,  etc.,  will  be  furnished 

on  application. 


A.   J.    SMITH,    GENERAL  PASSENGER  AND  TICKET  AGENT.  CLEVELAND,  OHIO. 
C.    K.    WILBER,    WESTERN   PASSENGER  AGENT,  CHICAGO,   ILL. 


Camp  out  on  the  Line  of  the 

(jhicago,  plilwaukee  &  {jt,  Paul 


RAILWAY. 


The  following  are  a  few  of  the  many  localities  on  the  lines  of  the  CHICAGO, 
MILWAUKEE  &  ST.  PAUL  RAILWAY  in  Wisconsin,  Minnesota,  South  and 
North  Dakota,  and  Northern  Iowa,  where  the  "  Rod  and  Gun"  can  be  kept  in 
constant  use,  and  Sportsmen  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind  can  readily  ascertain 
their  whereabouts. 

For  a  copy  of  the  Game  and  Fish  Laws  of  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Minnesota, 
and  Dakota,  send  to  A.  V.  H.  CARPENTER,  General  Passenger  Agent, 
Milwaukee,  Wis. 

WISCONSIN. 

FOR  HUNTING  —  Junction  City,  Wausau,  Merrill,  Tomahawk,  Minocqua. 

FOR  FISHING  —  Pewaukee,  Hartland,  Oconomowoc,  Tomahawk  Lake, 
Minocqua,  Winneconne,  Oshkosh,  Sparta,  Tomah,  Tunnel  City,  Madison, 
Delavan,  Stoughton,  Palmyra,  La  Crosse,  Prairie  du  Chien,  Eagle. 

MINNESOTA. 

FOR  HUNTING  —  Bird  Island,  Montevideo,  Appleton,  Ortonville,  Austin, 
Blooming  Prairie,  Faribault,  Northtield,  Cannon  Falls,  Fairmont,  Sherburn, 
Jackson,  Laketield,  Fulda,  Edgerton. 

FOR  FISHING  —  Big  Stone  Lake  (on  the  boundary  line),  White  Bear  Lake, 
Minnesota  River,  Vermillion  River,  Cannon  Lake,  Lakes  Sisseton,  Budd, 
Buffalo,  George,  and  Hall  (these  last  five  all  near  Fairmont). 

SOUTH  AND  NORTH  DAKOTA. 

FOR  HUNTING  —  Webster,  Groton,  Aberdeen,  Ellendale,  Ashton,  Wolsey, 
Woonsocket,  Wahpeton,  Canton,  Lennox,  Parker,  Flandreau,  Egan,  Madison, 
Howard,  Diana,  Mitchell,  Sioux  Falls,  Yankton. 

FOR  FISHING  —  Big  Stone  Lake,  Lake  Madison,  Big  Sioux  River,  Lake 
Traverse,  Waubay  Lake,  Rice  Lake,  Lake  Preston. 

IOWA. 

FOR  HUNTING  —  Le  Roy,  Plymouth,  Carpenter,  Algona,  Emmetsburg, 
Ruthven,  Okoboji,  Sanborn,"  Rock  Valley,  Calliope. 

FOR  FISHING  —  Lakes  Okoboji,  Spirit  Lake,  Clear  Lake,  Des  Moines  River, 
Pelican  Lake,  Trumbull  Lake,  Swan  Lake. 

EXCURSION     TICKETS 

Are  for  sale  at  Reduced  Rates  to  all  the  principal  resorts  along  the  lines  of  the 
CHICAGO,  MILWAUKEE  &  ST.  PAUL  RAILWAY.  For  further  particulars  inquire 
of  the  nearest  Station  Ticket  Agent. 


DOGS     HND     GWNS 

When  accompanied  by  the  owner  thereof,  are  carried  FREE  in  the  baggage 
cars  of  the  CHICAGO,  MILWAUKEE  &  ST.  PAUL  RAILWAY. 


FIRST-CLASS  RAILROAD 

Penetrating  the  most  attractive  portions  of 

Illinois,  Iowa,  Wisconsin,  Michigan,  Minnesota, 
Dakota,  Nebraska  and  Wyoming. 


THE  DIRECT  ROUTE 


Milwaukee,  Waukesha,    Madison,  Neenah 

and  Menasha,  Green  Lake,  Marquette, 

Lake  Geneva,  Fox  Lake,  Devil's  Lake. 

St.    Paul,    Minneapolis,    Duluth,   Ashland, 
Lake  Mlnnetonka,  Yellowstone 

National  Park. 

Council    Bluffs,   Omaha,    Denver  and   the 

Mountains  of  Colorado,  Salt  Lake  City, 

San  Francisco,  Los  Angeles,  Colton, 

San    Diego,     Portland,     Tacoma, 

Seattle,  Victoria,  Vancouver  and 

all    California,    Alaska    and 

Pacific   Coast    Points. 


Consistin 


THROUGH  FAST  TRAINS 


Between  CHICAGO  and  destinations,  is  carefully  arranged 
to  meet  the  requirements  of  Through  and  Local  Travel,  and 
its  equipment  of  new  and  superb  SLEEPING  CARS, 
PALATIAL  DINING  CAKS  and  ELEGANT  PAR- 
LOR CARS  AND  COACHES  is  such  as  to  command 
the  patronage  of  the  best  class  of  travelers.  It  is  the  ONLY 
LINE  to  the  BLACK  HILLS. 

Rates,  Maps,  and  all  information  furnished  on  application 
to  any  Ticket  Agent,  or  to  the  General  Passenger  Agent,  at 
Chicago. 


W.  H.  NEWMAN, 

3d  Vice-President. 


J.  M.  WHITMAN, 

General  Manager. 


E.  P.  WILSON, 

General  Passenger  Agent. 


INK  GUNS 


Purdey's,  W.  X  C,  Scott  S  Son's, 
Westley  Richards,  Lang,  Grant, 
Parker,  Lefever,  Colt,  L.  C.  Smith, 
Davis,  Forehand  J  Wadsworth, 
Harrington  &  Richardson,  Etc. 

Send  for  Catalogue  and   List  of  High-Grade 

Second-Hands  taken  in  Exchange. 

Some  Bargains. 


WILLIAM  READ  &  SONS, 


1O7  Washington.  Street, 
BOSTON,    MASS, 


THE    OLD    HOUSE.-ESTABLISHED     1826. 


DC  Mi 


SYRACUSE,    N.   Y. 


$5O     TO 


THE     _EADER   OF  ALL 


HAMMERLESS  GUNS. 

The  only  gun  in  the  world  with  Compensated  Action  to  taks  up  wear  in  every  direction. 

The  best  balanced,  moat  symmetrical,  and  strongest  gun  made.     Has  an  unex- 

celled record  for  pattern  and  penetration.     Special  attention  given  to  boring 

for  trap  and  wild  fowl  shooting.     All  guns  bored  on  the  taper  system, 

giving  the  greatest  penetration  and  even  distribution  of  shot. 


The  columns  of  the  leading  sporting  papers  have  for  years  been  recording  the 

Successes  of  the  Lefever  Gun  at  the  Trap  and  its  Triumphs 
as  a  Prize  Winner. 


ADVANTAGES  OF  THE  LEFEVER  HAMMERLESS  GUN. 

1.  The  strongest  and  simplest  action  in  the  world. 

2.  Compensated  action  to  take  up  wear  in  every  direction. 

3.  Long  frame  increasing  strength  of  action. 

4.  No  thicker  frame  than  an  ordinary  hammer  gun.  avoiding  the  clumsy  and  "  out  of 
proportion  "  appearance  of  the  majority  of  hammerless  guns. 

5.  The  locks  and  action  can  be  taken  apart  and  cleaned  as  easily  as  a  hammer  gun. 

6.  The  position  of  the  hammers  can  be  ascertained  by  the  indicators  as  readily  as  with 
a  hammer  gun. 

7.  Hammers  can  not  be  jarred  off  even  with  a  trigger-pull  as  light  as  two  pounds. 

8.  Trigger-pull  can  be  regulated  to  any  desired  weight  by  eccentric-screw,  without 
removing  locks  from  the  stock. 

9.  The  action  of  the  locks  is  twice  as  quick  as  in  a  hammer  gun,  thus  increasing  the 
chances  of  the  sportsman  when  firing  at  quick-moving  objects. 

10.  No  hammers  to  obstruct  the  sight  or  catch  on  twigs  or  bushes. 

11.  The  safety,  that  can  be  made  either  automatic  or  non-automatic. 

12.  The  use  of  gas-tight,  independent  plungers  prevents  any  chance  for  escape  of  gas 
into  the  locks. 

13.  The  locks  are  rebounding. 

14.  Both  hammers  being  raised  by  a  single  lever,  need  no  adjustment  screws  or  pins  to 
make  them  cock  together. 

15.  The  ease  with  which  the  gun  is  opened,  there  being  but  little  friction  to  overcome, 
as  only  two  pieces  are  employed  to  raise  the  hammer. 

16.  Less  liability  to  misfire  than  in  any  other  hammerless  action,  because  there  are  no 
levers  or  cocking-rods  to  obstruct  the  fall  of  the  hammer. 

SEND    KOR    CATALOQUE. 


H.  W.  JENNEY, 

President. 


C.  L.  GRAHAM, 

Sec'y  and  Treas. 


BOATS, 

TENTS, 

SEINES, 

NETS, 

LAWN 

TENNIS, 


HUNTING    EQUIPMENTS, 


FINE   ANGLING    OUTFITS. 


RODS, 
REELS, 
LINES, 
BAITS, 
BASE 
BALL 
GOODS. 


LefBver  Hammcriess 


The  best  trap  and  field  Gun  made.    It  will  out-shoot  all  others;  is  simpler 
in  construction  and  more  durable. 


A  COMPLETE   LINE  OF  AMERICAN   AND   FOREIGN   GUNS 

Of  every  standard  make.    W.  &  C.  Scott   &  Sons'   Premier  Hammerless; 
Colts'   Hammer, ess:  Diana   Hammerless;  Davis'  Hammerless. 

DALY  THREE-BARREL, 

Parker,  Itlmoa,  13  one  hill,  Ueniing-toii  and  others 

Winchester!  Merlin,  Ballard,  Stevens  and  all  Modern  Rifles, 


PETERS'  LOADED  SHELLS 

Penetration  Increased,  Pattern  Improved,  Recoil  Diminished, 
Fou'ing  Prevented. 

JENNEY  &  GRAHAM  GUN  CO., 


SEND  FOR  CATALOGUE. 


I O2   Madison   St.,  CHICAGO. 


THE  PARKER  GUN 

XXXXXX  XXXXXXXXXXAXXXX  ^^.  '     ~    ~         '       "~" 


BEST    AND    LOWEST  PRICE  QUN    IN 
THE  \VORLD. 


HAMMERLESSA. 
* — HAMMER  GUNS 

SOLD  BY  THE  TRADE  EVERYWHERE. 


Descriptive  Qatalo^ue  /Trailed  017  Application. 


MANUFACTURED    BY 


Mieriden,  Coiiu. 


Show  Rooms  97  Chambers  St.,  New  York. 


Before  going  to  the  Score,  or  into  the  field,  see  to  it  and  know  that  your  Shells 
are  loaded  with  Powder  manufactured  by 


WILMINGTON,  DEL. 


DU   PONT    RIFLE. 

In  three  sizes  of  grain:  FFFg  (fine),  FFg  (medium), 
Fg  (coarse). 

IB  packed  in  kegs,  35  pounds;  half-kegs,  1254  pounds; 
quarter-kegs,  6)4  pounds;  one-pound  canisters. 

DU  FONT'S  EAGLE  DUCKING. 

In  three-sized  grains :    No.  3  (fine),  Xo.  2  (medi 
No.  1  (coarse). 

Packed  in  kegs,  half-kegb,  quarter-kegs  and  one-pound 
canisters. 

Undoubtedly  the  most  popular  high-grade  powder 
manufactured  at  the  present  day.  No  brand  is  as  fa- 
miliar with  sportsmen  everywhere  as  Du  Font's  "Eagle 
Ducking.''  Its  peculiar  properties  are  extreme  quick- 
ness, strength,  and  cleanliness. 

DU  FONT'S  CHOKE  BORE. 

In  two-sized  grains :   No.  5  (medium) ,  No.  7  (coarse) . 

Packed  in  kegs,  half-kegs,  quarter-kegs  and  one-pound 
canisters. 

A  new  brand  specially  adapted  for  choke-bore  guns; 
a  high  grade  of  powder  at  an  intermediate  price;  burns 
slowly  with  great  strength;  does  not  burn  or  cake  on 
the  barrels,  and  gives  the  most  regular  pattern  possible. 

DU  FONT'S  CRYSTAL  GRAIN. 

In  three-sized  grains:  No.  3  (fine),  Xo.  2  (medium), 
No.  1  (coarse). 

A  brand  made  to  supply  a  limited  demand  for  an  ar- 
ticle where  price  is  no  object,  and  in  which  (by  using 
nothing  but  the  very  choicest,  selected  and  several  times 
refined  materials)  the  highest  point  of  perfection  is 
attained. 


SIZE  OF  GRAIN. 


T%&  "-*''  ^W 

^a*; 


DU  PONT    CARTRIDGES. 

Loaded  expressly  for  us  by  the  ST A  ND A  RD 
CARTRIDGE  CO.  These  loaded  shells 
although  having  been  but  a  short  time  on 
the  market,  have  won  especial  favor,  and 
have  taken  the  lead  over  all  others.  For 
price  list  address 

E.  S.  RICE,  Gen'l  Agent, 

62    Wabash    Ave.,     -     -     CHICAGO. 


HANDSOME,    ABSOLUTELY    PORTABLE 

Summer  Cottages,  Hunting  and  Fishing  Cabins, 

Children's  Beautiful  Lawn  Play-Houses, 
Art  Studios  for  the  Amateur  and  Traveling 

Photographer, 
Lawn  Smokers,  CIub-Houses,  Etc. 


Ho  Hawing  While  Being  Ta^en  Down, 


No  Nails  or  Screws. 

Absolutely   Portable. 


GRAND  RAPIDS  PORTABLE  HOUSE  Co, 

I O2  to  116  Prescott  St.,  GRAND   RAPIDS,  MICH. 


CAMPING 


A  MANUAL  OF  INSTRUCTION  FOR  YOUNG   AND   OLD  SPORTSMEN. 


12mo.     200  Pages.     30  Illustrations.     Cloth,  $1.25. 


This  book  contains  practical  points  on  how  to  dress  for  Hunt, 
ing,  Fishing,  or  other  Camping  Trips  ;  what  to  carry  in  the  way  of 
extra  Clothing,  Bedding,  Provisions,  Cooking  Utensils,  and  all 
classes  of  Camp  Equipage  ;  how  to  select  Camp  Sites  ;  how  to  make 
Camp  Fires  ;  how  to  build  Temporary  Shelters  ;  what  to  do  in  case 
of  Getting  Lost,  etc.  It  contains  check  lists  of  articles  constituting 
Complete  Camping  Outfits  ;  a  list  of  the  names  and  addresses  of 
Guides,  in  various  hunting  and  fishing  countries,  and  much  other 
information  of  value  to  Campers,  and  which  has  never  before  been 
given  to  the  public. 

The  instructions  given  are  based  on  an  experience  of  twenty- 
five  years  in  Camping,  and  in  the  study  of  Camp  Lore,  Woodcraft, 
etc. ,  and  it  is  believed  that  the  work  will  prove  of  great  value  to 
thousands  of  men  and  boys,  who  have  not  had  such  favorable 
opportunities  for  study. 

The  book  also  contains  a  Chapter  by 

Dr.  CHARLES  GILBERT  DAVIS, 

ON 

CAMP  HYGIENE,  MEDICINE  AND  SURGERY. 

ONE   BY 

Col.  J.  FRY  LAWRENCE, 

ON 

CAMP    COOKERY, 

AND  ONE  BY 

FRANK  F.  FRISBIE, 

ON 

THE  DIAMOND  HITCH,  OR  HOW  TO  LOAD  A  PACK  HORSE. 


This  book  should  be  in  the  library  of  every  Sportsman,  and  will 
be  sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

RAND,   McNALLY  &  CO., 

162  to  172  Adams  St.,  CHICAGO. 
323  Broadway,  NEW  YORK. 


CROFUTT'S  GUIDE  BOOKS. 

The  New  Series  of  Crofutt's  Tours  Books  are  pro- 
fusely illustrated  and  contain  a  marvellous  amount  of 
condensed  information  specially  valuable  to  all  classes  of 
travelers — Pleasure  Seekers,  Capitalists,  Emigrants, 
Miners,  Wage- workers,  etc.,  etc.  These  books  deal  in 
facts,  figures  and  authentic  descriptions  of  nearly  two  thou- 
sand Cities,  Towns,  Villages,  Stations,  Government  Forts 
and  Camps,  Indian  Reservations,  Mountains,  Lakes,  Riv- 
ers, Sulphur,  Soda  and  Hot  Springs,  Scenery,  Big  Trees, 
Geysers,  Watering  Places,  Summer  and  Winter  Resorts, 
etc.,  etc.;  where  to  hunt  Deer,  Bear,  Antelope  and  other 
game  ;  Trout  fishing,  etc. — in  fact,  tell  you  what  is  worth 
seeing  and  knowing — where  to  go,  how  to  go,  and  where 
to  stop,  while  journeying  over  the  Union,  Central  and 
Southern  Pacific  Railroads,  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande, 
Utah  Central,  Oregon  Railway  &  Navigation  Co.,  and 
portions  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  and  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railroads,  their  branches  and  connec- 
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co. The  Agricultural,  Horticultural,  Mineral,  Stock- 
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No.  I  of  the  Series  Comprises  the  Union  Pacific 
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out Nebraska,  Kansas,  Colorado,  Wyoming,  Utah,  Idaho, 
Montana,  Oregon  and  Washington — touching  Victoria, 
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in  Colorado  and  Wyoming  ;  all  of  the  Central  Pacific, 
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CRUISINGS  IN  THE  CASCADES 

A  NARRATIVE  OF 

Travel,  Exploration,  Amateur  Photography,  Hunting  1  Fishing 

With  Special  Chapters  on  Hunting  the 

Grizzly  Bear,  the  Buffalo,  Elk,  Antelope,  Rocky  Mountain  Goat,  and  Deer;  also 

on  Trouting  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  on  a  Montana  Roundup  ; 

Life  among  the  Cowboys,  Etc. 

BY  Q.  O.  SHIELDS   ("COQUINA"), 

Author  of  "  RUSTLINGS  is  THE  ROCKIES,"   "  HUNTING  IN  TUB  GREAT  WEST," 
"THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  Bio  HOLE,"  ETC. 

12mo.    300  Pages.    75  Illustrations.    Cloth,  $2.00;  Half  Calf,  $3.00. 

The  learned  writer,  scientist  and  sportsman,  Col.  W.  D.  Pickett,  better 
known  as  "  P.,"  says  of  this  book  :  "  The  true  lover  of  nature  who  delights 
to  occasionally  escape  from  the  annoyances  and  worriments  inseparable 
from  so-called  civilized  life,  and  to  wander  amid  scenes  that  tell  only  of  the 
infinite  power,  the  beneficence,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  Great  Ruler ;  who 
delights  to  worship  in  the  grandest  of  all  His  temples— the  mountains ;  who 
realizes  and  feels  His  presence  on  every  mountain  peak,  in  every  dark 
canyon,  in  every  rushing  wind,  in  every  gentle  zephyr,  and  who,  amid  such 
scenes,  above  all  realizes  his  own  weakness  and  littleness;  he  it  is  who  will 
take  pleasure  in  following  the  author  amid  some  of  the  grandest  and  most 
beautiful  scenery  on  this  continent." 

Mr.  T,  S.  Van  Dyke,  author  of  "The  Still  Hunter,"  and  other  popular 
books,  says:  "It  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  on  field  sports  yet 
published.  Mr.  Shields  always  has  something  to  say,  and  says  it  in  a  way 
that  makes  one  see  it.  He  is  never  dull,  and  there  is  an  air  of  truth  about 
his  work  that  fully  satisfies  the  reader." 

Mr.  Orin  Belknap,  known  and  loved  of  all  sportsmen  by  his  familiar 
pseudonym  of  "  Uncle  Fuller,"  says:  "  The  author  of  this  work  has  placed 
the  sportsmen  of  America  under  lasting  obligations  by  his  pleasing  descrip- 
tions of  his  adventures  in  the  wilds  of  these  little-known  mountains." 

"In  all  that  pertains  to  exploration,  the  wild  journeys  into  wild  places, 
the  dangerous  ascent  of  rugged  peaks  and  no  less  perilous  descent  into 
obscure  valleys,  hitherto  untrodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  the  lungs  expanded 
with  deep  breaths  of  untainted  air,  the  blood  bounding  with  sudden  pros- 
pects and  unexpected  discoveries,  the  keen  feeling  of  full  and  abundant  life 
and  the  nearness  of  the  great  heart  of  nature— in  all  this  the  author  wins, 
and  deserves  to  win,  the  hearty  sympathy  of  readers  of  every  cast  of 
thought,  opinion  and  condition."— BelforcTs  Magazine. 

Says  W.  B.  Lefflngwell,  the  gifted  author  of  "  Wild  Fowl  Shooting,"  and 
of  "Shooting  on  Upland,  Field,  and  Marsh  :  "  "I  have  rareJy  encountered, 
anywhere,  such  vivid  descriptions  of  life  in  the  mountains  as  are  found  in 
'  Crusings  in  the  Cascades.'  " 

"  Men  who  enjoy  jaunts  into  the  woods  in  search  of  big  game  will  find 
this  book  extremely  interesting."— New  York  Herald. 

" '  Cruisings  in  the  Cascades '  is  by  far  the  best  thing  Coquina  has  ever 
•written."— American  Field. 

"  It  is  a  handsomely  printed  and  finely  illustrated  volume,  made  up  of 
spirited  sketches  of  travels,  explorations,  hunting  and  fishing.  It  is  charm- 
ingly interesting.  The  author  mingles  solid  facts  of  great  value  with 
accounts  of  his  wild  adventures,  and  tells  the  story  with  an  off-hand  style 
that  banishes  sleep  from  tired  eyes."— Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  'Cruisings  in  the  Cascades'  is  Mr.  Shields'  latest,  and,  we  think,  best 
publication.  It  will  be  heartily  appreciated  by  American  sportsmen." — 
Shouting  and  Fishing. 

"  The  pages  are  breezy  and  the  illustrations  numerous  and  attractive, 
the  camera  having  been  freely  used  by  the  author  in  his  travels."— Turf, 
Field  and  Farm. 

"  Mr.  Shields  is  not  only  a  hunter,  but  an  angler,  and  an  amateur  photo- 
grapher, and  on  his  excursions  in  the  mountains  has  made  good  use  of  his 
opportunities.  As  a  narrative  of  adventure  the  book  is  entertaining,  and  as 
a  record  of  sport  it  will  delight  many  readers."— The  Literary  World. 

"It  is  sure  to  meet  with  a  large  sale."—  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  It  is  by  all  odds  the  most  fascinating  book  on  big  game  hunting  ever 
published."— The  Journalist. 

This  book  will  be  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

CHICAGO. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


THEBATTLEOFTHEBIGHOLE 

A  History  of  Gen.  Gibbon's  Engagement  with  the 
Ne^:  Perce  Indians,  in  the  Big  Hole  Basin, 

Montana,  August  9,  1  877. 
12mo.    150  Pag-es,  Profusely  Illustrated.    Cloth,  $1.00. 


Read  the  following  indorsment  of  the  book  from  General  Gibbon: 

HEADQUARTERS  DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  COLUMBIA,          . 

VANCOUVER  BARRACKS,  W.  T.,  August  11, 1889. 
MR.  G.  O.  SHIELDS,  Chicago,  111. 

JJEAR  SIR:  1  was  very  much  pleased  with  your  account  of  the  Big  Hole 
fight,  and  I  believe  your  statement  of  the  facts  are  all  correctly  given.  The 
book  is  well  written  and  handsomely  printed  and  bound.  The  likenesses 
are  all  good  and  easily  recognizable.  If  I  were  to  criticise  your  book  at  all,  I 
should  say  that  your  comments  on  the  story  are  somewhat  too  complimen- 
tary to  myself. 

I  thank  you  for  piacing  on  record,  in  a  permanent  shape,  such  a  satis- 
factory account  of  the  battle. 

Very  truly  yours,  JOHN  GIBBON. 

And  this  from  Captain  Coolidge: 

CAMP  PILOT  BUTTE,  Wyoming,  March  17, 1889. 
MR.  G.  O.  SHIELDS,  Chicago,  111. 

DEAR  SIR:  I  have  read  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  and  pleasure  the 
manuscript  of  your  book,  entitled  "The  Battle  of  the  Big  Hole,"  and  as  a 
participant  in  the  tragic  affair  it  describes  can  cheerfully  commend  it  to 
all  who  are  interested  in  obtaining  a  true  history  of  the  Nez  Perce  campaign. 
It  is  a  graphic  and  truthful  account  of  the  Big  Hole  fight,  and  o  f  the  events 
leading  up  to  it,  and  must  prove  a  most  valuable  contribution  to  the  history 
of  our  Indian  wars. 

I  trust  the  book  will  meet  with  the  generous  reception  it  deserves. 
Yours  truly,  CHAS.  A.  COOLIDGE, 

Capt.  7th  U.  S.  Infty. 

"It  is  good  to  recall  from  time  to  time  the  gallant  conduct  of  our  sol- 
diers in  the  West,  and  Mr.  Shields  is  to  be  thanked  for  refreshing  people's 
memories  in  regard  to  this  important  event."— New  York  Times. 

"It  is  a  graphic  story  of  Indian  warfare,  and  the  author  is  to  be  thanked 
for  the  manner  in  which  he  has  again  brought  to  remembrance  the  story  of 
a  battle  in  which  the  brave  and  historic  Seventh  Infantry  won  a  great 
renown.  The  book  is  a  valuable  addition  to  the  history  of  the  Great  West." 
—Chicago  Herald. 

"It  is  an  exciting  history  of  Gen.  Gibbon's  engagement  with  the  Nez 
Perce  Indians.  It  is  a  well-told  story,  printed  in  large,  clear  type,  with 
many  portraits  of  the  actors  in  the  contest."— Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

"In  the  battle  of  the  Big  Hole,  Mr.  G.  O.  Shields  (Coquina)  gives  an 
exceedingly  interesting  description  of  one  of  the  most  desperate  fights  in  the 
history  of  our  Indian  wars.  He  gives  his  readers  a  very  accurate  idea  of 
some  of  the  hardships  necessarily  endured  in  such  Western  campaigns,  and 
takes  occasion  to  eulogize,  in  no  faint  terms,  the  American  soldier  in  gen- 
eral, and  General  John  Gibbon  in  particular."— Journal  of  the  Military  Serv- 
ice Institution. 

This  book  will  be  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

CHICAGO. 


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